


The Girl Next Door

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Mystery, Sexual Content, Slash, Spoilers, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-08
Updated: 2006-07-28
Packaged: 2018-10-01 01:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10178006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: It has been fifteen years since the defeat of the Dark Wizard Voldemort, and the Boy-Who-Lived has abandoned what friends he still has and deserted the wizarding world for good. But a new Dark Lord threatens the world Harry left behind . . . some SLASH!!REWRITTEN!





	1. Samantha

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

Disclaimer: I own Samantha and her family. Everyone else belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling.

Chapter One: Samantha

It was a cool evening. A 32-year-old man stepped out into his garden and hastily lit a cigarette. He closed his green eyes as the smoke calmed him and he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. A noise from the house next to his caught his attention. The neighbours were arguing with their teenage daughter, Samantha. Their angry words filtered through the window and into the night air.

“You will never amount to anything with marks like these!” That was Samantha’s dad, a chemist who worked for one of the most prestigious industries in the entire Western hemisphere.

“But I did really well in Literature!”

“If you want that scholarship to the Science Academy, girl, you’re going to have to pass at least one science class! You should be in physics right now, along with your other friends, but you are stuck in Chemistry for another year, and you aren’t passing it this time around either!” Sam’s dad snarled.

“Dad, I don’t want the scholarship to the Academy. You’re the one who wants me to go!”

“Don’t be absurd, honey,” Sam’s mother, a chemistry teacher, cut in, trying to calm her family. “You told us at the beginning of last year that you intended on working for a full scholarship to the Academy. And now your grades are terrible.”

“Writer’s don’t need chemistry! Writer’s don’t need Algebra!”

“Honey, you aren’t a writer. You were born to be a scientist, Sam. Please, just listen to what your father is saying . . .”

“WHY SHOULD I LISTEN TO HIM IF HE WON’T LISTEN TO ME?”

“BECAUSE I AM YOUR FATHER AND YOU ARE MY DAUGHTER. YOU OWE ME SOME RESPECT!”

“YEAH, WELL, I ONLY RESPECT THOSE WHO RESPECT ME IN RETURN!” Sam retorted.

“YOU ARE THROWING YOUR LIFE OUT OF THE WINDOW!”

The door slammed and Samantha stormed out into the back garden. She wanted to scream with frustration. Her parents never listened to her. She ran her fingers through her long brown hair and kicked the low stone wall that separated her yard from her neighbour’s. Her dark eyes fell onto the smoke wafting away into the night air and followed the smoke back to its owner.

“Hi, Harry.” She sighed. “I – uh – guess you heard us, huh?”

Harry blew out some more smoke from his cigarette and grinned. “Don’t I always?”

Samantha was desperately trying to keep her anger under control as she spoke. “They think that just because I don’t want to do anything that involves science that I’m going to amount to nothing. I want to write, don’t they understand?”

“Sorry, Sam. Parents just have a way of trying to push their children down the roads that they themselves took. Come to think of it, friends do the same thing.”

“But can you believe them though?” Sam erupted. “It’s not fair in the least. My marks in everything but Chemistry and Algebra were outstanding. One of my teachers even told me I should try to write something for the upcoming Author’s Contest at school.”

“Are you going to write anything?” Harry approached the wall separating the two gardens.

“Yeah. I’ve been thinking of writing an essay about how stupid parents are. Mine have got to be the dumbest by far.”

Harry chuckled. “They love you, Sam. They only want you to have what’s best. They just don’t see how anything except Chemistry can be important. They’re chemists, Sam. Science is their life.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not going to be mine.” Samantha scowled. “Can I have a cigarette?”

“Your parents are still in the kitchen.” Harry nodded toward the house. “Otherwise I’d give you one in a heartbeat.”

“Too bad you aren’t my father,” Sam sighed. “You’d make a great Dad.”

Harry grinned. “Well, I don’t know about that.”

“Of course you would. You’re good listener. You pay attention to what goes on around you and how other people feel. My dad told me one time that if something didn’t come in a test tube or a beaker, he didn’t care much for it. I suppose that includes me.”

Harry laid his hand on Samantha’s shoulder. “Now, you know that’s not true. Your dad loves you. That’s why he’s trying to get you to do well in school. He wants you to have a great job somewhere. And science is a high-paying job field, you know, according to a bunch of studies by some random people.”

Samantha laughed. The guy that lived next door understood her more than anyone else. Of course, her parents didn’t like him because he was odd, but Samantha liked him. He was a writer at heart, like she was, and he made quite a bit of money on his short stories. It had been him and his stories that had made Sam want to write. Harry had shown her the path that she wanted to take. And she was very grateful to him.

“Hey, Harry? My parents are going out of town for two weeks, and they want to send me to a science camp while they’re gone. D’you think maybe you could talk them out of it? Like, I don’t know. You could keep an eye on me or something?”

“I’ll see what I can do. Your parents don’t like me very much.”

“Oh, I know, but that’s only because they don’t understand why I spend so much time with you. They question your motives. They think you’re, I don’t know, trying to seduce me or something. But I keep telling them that there’s nothing to worry about. They just don’t want to believe that you’re gay.”

Harry chuckled again. “Well, some people have a hard time believing it. They don’t approve of it. I know for a fact that your father would kill me if I ever proved it to him. He cannot stand anyone that is not ‘normal’ in his eyes.”

“Yeah, and that’s why he hates me. Because I can’t stand science. I’m therefore not normal.”

“You are much more normal than you know, Sam. I don’t know anybody but your parents that actually like Chemistry. Well, no, that’s not true. My old Chem. teacher loved it more than anything. But he was crazy. He got put in an asylum . . .” Harry trailed off, thinking fondly of his old Potions Master, Severus Snape, who had tragically lost his memory after the Second War and had gone to St. Mungo’s indefinitely. He was as close to a Chemistry teacher as Harry had ever had.

“My parents don’t think I’m normal. Hey, Harry? When did you first start writing?”

“Oh, I was about your age, I guess. I got so tired of everyone thinking that my life was easy that I wrote my first book. That was really when I knew.”

“I didn’t know you’d written a book!” Sam’s eyes widened and she found a new respect for this man next door. “I thought you only wrote short stories for magazines! What was your book called?”

“Well,” Harry hesitated. He was worried that if he revealed too much that Sam would discover the truth about his identity. “I – my dear friend and I – well, we wrote a book. I gave her the real facts and then she embellished . . . It’s completely fiction, of course, what she ended up writing, but I felt it captured how I really felt . . .”

“So what was it called?”

Damn, that girl is persistent! Harry thought irritably. She reminds me of myself at that age!

Harry cleared his throat. “Harry Potter and the . . .”

He was cut off by a squeal from Sam.

“So that really was you the character was based on!” She yelled happily. “Oh, I always thought there were so many similarities between you two! I mean, come on, but how many people have a lightning shaped scar in the middle of their forehead . . .”

Harry grinned weakly. She’d never believe any of that stuff was true, would she?

“Yes, well, J.K. and I go way back, and when I told her I wanted to write a book about my life she . . . told me to give her some facts about my childhood and . . . then she’d come up with something fictional. Everything in there was made up . . . except that my parents died when I was young and I went to live with my aunt and uncle. Everything else came out of that magnificent brain of hers . . .” Harry desperately hoped his explanation didn’t sound too fake.

“My parents won’t let me read them.” Sam sighed. “I managed to read the first one only because my friend from school gave it to me for my birthday, but my mother found it and they threw it away. And I really wanted to know what happened, too.”

“Well, when your parents go away, you’re welcome to borrow my copies. Hell, I’ll even give you a whole boxed set if you’d like. Just keep them away from your parents.”

“Oh really? Wow. Thanks. You know how fast I read. I’ll probably be done with them in a day or so.”

Harry chuckled. He was so relieved! Even if he had alienated himself from the wizarding world, he didn’t want them to be discovered on his account.

What would they say if their ‘Saviour’ turned out to be the one who revealed them all? Harry wondered bitterly, forgetting momentarily that he was having a conversation with the girl next door.

The slamming of the back door brought him back to the present. Mr. Turner, Sam’s father, stepped out into the garden.

“Sam, you need top get in here and do your chores!” he called.

“Gotta go, Harry. Nice talking.”

“See you, Sam.”

Sam disappeared into the house, but her father remained outside. Harry dropped his cigarette to the ground and stomped it into the dewy grass. He nodded curtly to his neighbour.

“Ryan.”

“Harry.”

“Listen, Ryan, Sam says you and Elizabeth are going away.”

“Yeah, so? That’s really got nothing to do with you.”

“Well, she says that you’re gonna send her to some science camp, and she . . .”

“So she came whining to you did she?”

“Look, Mr. Turner, it seems to me that you are trying to push her in a direction that she doesn’t want to go.”

“It’s none of your business what we do with our daughter. She’s going to science camp, and there’s nothing you can say to dissuade me.”

“Well, she doesn’t want to go. I would be happy to keep and eye on her for you . . .”

“I am not leaving you’re my teenage daughter with a creepy next-door-neighbour. What do you want with our daughter, anyway? She spends all of her time at your house, and hardly has any friends at school. We’ve tried to take her to a psychologist, but she won’t say anything about your relationship with her. And we are not leaving our innocent daughter with you.”

“Look, Ryan, she wants to be an author. Not a scientist. Let her go her own way. Please, don’t send her to science camp.”

“You leave my daughter the hell alone!” Ryan yelled. “You leave my whole family alone!”

“Ryan, please, listen to me . . .”

“Why? So you can tell me how to raise my child? I’m sorry, Mr. Potter, but since you do not have children of you own, I do not see why I should take advice from you!”

“Ryan –”

“Mr. Turner, to you.” Ryan snarled.

Harry bowed his head. “Mr. Turner, your daughter confides in me. She doesn’t think that you listen to her at all, so she tells me everything. No, I don’t have children on my own, but I am certain that I make a better father than you!”

He was letting his anger get the better of him. He’d sworn he’d never let rage take over his life again.

“That’s not exactly what I meant, Ryan – Mr. Turner. I meant that maybe instead of taking advice from me, you should listen to your own daughter. She’s a lot smarter than you think.”

Ryan snarled again but said nothing. He turned angrily on his heel and stomped into his house. Harry knew he was heading for the drink cabinet for a scotch. That’s what Ryan always did after an argument. He’d get very, very drunk, and occasionally go on a rampage. How many times had Harry woken up in the middle of the night to find a scared little Samantha on his doorstep, clutching her sleeping bag and teddy bear? And how many times had that same little girl come to him with a black eye or bruised arms? Ryan Turner had a drinking problem, but his wife Elizabeth refused to see it. It would tear their family apart if he had to go into rehab. But then, letting the problem continue would also tear apart the family. Elizabeth just couldn’t deal with the fact that her husband had a problem.

Harry sighed and shrugged his shoulders to ease the ache in his neck. It had been fifteen years since he’d received that near-fatal Quidditch injury, and yet it still haunted him, day in, day out. The only thing that had helped were those expert fingers of his lover and friend, Draco Malfoy. And Draco was long since dead. Harry shook his head to clear his mind.

It was nearly impossible to escape the wizarding world. Harry had tried, and as of yet, none of his friends had found him. But he knew it was only a matter of time before the entire Weasley clan showed up at his door. And if Samantha saw anyone from the books, she’d realize in an instant what was really going on . . .

He slowly walked back into his small house. His huge black Labrador leapt up on him and tried to lick his face, but he shoved him away.

“Not now, Snuffles. I’m tired. We’ll play in the morning, all right?”

Snuffles wagged his tail and ran into the living room. He thought his master was going to play fetch with him. He came back into the room, carrying a very soggy old tennis ball. Harry sagged into a chair in his dining room and wearily wrestled the ball from the dog’s mouth.

“Go on, go get it, boy.” He threw as hard as he could, hoping it would bounce under something and the dog would try to find it. He didn’t want Snuffles or anyone to bother him.

The fact of the matter was, he missed everyone from his other life so terribly that it hurt, but he could never rejoin them. He’d never really fit in with them. Sirius and Draco had been the only two people who would ever begin to understand how he felt. And they were both dead. And Severus Snape, who really and truly understood Harry more than anything, could not remember where he was or how he had gotten there. And he certainly didn’t remember Harry.

The man let out a long, deep sigh and ran his fingers through his shaggy black hair.

Must be nearly time to get it cut, Harry thought. He got up slowly and went upstairs with the intention of taking a shower and working on the last chapter of his latest story. But the shower faucet was broken. It wouldn’t spray anything. He had to take a bath instead, and then when he was done and went to sit down at his computer, he realized that his computer had a virus and the hard drive was going to have to be wiped before he could safely use it again. He angrily pushed his chair away from the desk and growled savagely. It seemed nothing would go right tonight.

Then, something caught his eye. On his bookshelf, there were a number of books which Harry had found inspiring. Some were research books, others were novels, but what caught his eye at the moment was a large, leather bound volume with his name on the spine.

He rolled his chair over too it and took the volume in his hands. It tingled of magic, and he went to throw it to the ground, but he couldn’t. He’d forgotten he’d even had this. The photo album Hagrid had given him so many years ago.

Harry tore open the cover and stared hungrily at the pictures of his mother and father. Their wedding. His birth. His first birthday. And then the pictures changed. They were no more of his mother and father, but pictures of himself and his friends, standing outside of Hogwarts, smiling, laughing. So happy. He shuddered as he turned the page.

There was the one where he was receiving his Order of Merlin – First Class, for defeating Voldemort. He was grinning, happy. Everything was going to be okay. They hadn’t lost very many people. There he was standing with the Order of the Phoenix. Moody. Hagrid. Dumbledore. All nine Weasleys. Hermione. And standing directly next to Harry was Draco Malfoy. They were holding hands and grinning at each other. That picture had been taken on the very same day that Draco had died . . .

Harry slammed the book closed and brushed the tears from his eyes. He’d have to hide this book away. It held too many memories. Too many horrible memories. He threw himself onto his bed and buried his face in his pillow. He was trying so hard not to let the tears spill forth. He’d been trying for fifteen years.

Why hold the tears in? asked the voice in his head. Why push everyone away? They might be able to help you.

NO! Harry yelled to himself. No, I can’t let them get near me. I can’t get near them. I can’t get close to anyone. They’ll just leave me, like everyone else has done. I can’t go through loss again.

You are going to, though. You are getting close to Sam. And one day, she too will leave you.

Sam. Sam. Sam. Sam.

Harry rolled over angrily and growled again. Even when everyone else left him alone, his mind never would. Not even at night could he escape it. He knew he’d never get away. He’d been running for fifteen years. He sighed and closed his eyes, hoping his dreams would not be of Cedric, Sirius, Draco, or any of the other people who had died during the Second War. He hoped that for one night, his memories would leave him in peace. But his hoping was in vain.

If you like it, excellent. If you don’t, don’t bother continuing to read it. I will update as soon as possible, but I cannot make any promises. I have other things to do then spend all day on my computer typing.

S R Forests


	2. Painful Memories

  
Author's notes: It has been fifteen years since the defeat of the Dark Wizard Voldemort, and the Boy-Who-Lived has abandoned what friends he still has and deserted the wizarding world for good. But a new Dark Lord threatens the world Harry left behind . . . some SLASH!! REWRITTEN!  


* * *

Disclaimer: I own Samantha and her family. Everyone else belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling.

 

Author’s Note: Okay, mentions of slash Harry/Draco and sexual situations and brief violence, but nothing you shouldn’t be able to handle. Oh, and by the way, reviews are not unwelcome, so if you suddenly find yourself with an overwhelming desire to give it a review, fine by me. I can take any and all criticism, constructive or otherwise.

 

Chapter Two: Painful Memories

 

“I love you, Harry.”

“I love you too, Draco.”

“Then why won’t you do this for me?”

“Because I don’t like to bottom, Draco. You know that.”

“Aw, come on. Are you afraid or something?”

“No, I’m not afraid. It’s just that I –”

“Well, I’m not bottoming tonight. So either you bottom or we don’t do this at all. And Harry, I’d much prefer the former. I’ve been dying for this all day long.”

“Mmm, me too.” Harry nestled into the arms of his blonde-headed lover. “Fine, I’ll do it just this once.”

 

Harry snapped open his eyes and sat up in bed. He hadn’t had that dream in quite a long time. He grinned as he remembered that very first time that he had been on the bottom. With everyone else, he had been in control, but he liked the feeling of being able to give up power to someone else. Of course, he hadn’t admitted that to anyone, but Draco knew and understood. They were, after all, so very much alike. So arrogant. So stubborn. 

He wiped away a tear and climbed out of bed, combing his fingers through his mess of black hair. It was getting long. Too long. If he continued to let it grow, he’d end up looking like Sirius.

A shudder ran through his body. No, it was too painful to think about Sirius, even so many years later. Time had not eased the pain or guilt he felt connected with Sirius’ death. And he knew that nothing ever would.

A loud knock drew him out of his miserable memories and he looked at his clock. It was nearly eleven. Sam always came over on Saturdays to type on his computer. He drew his dressing gown over his pyjamas and shuffled down the stairs. Before he opened the door he peeked through the window. Sam was there, holding a notebook in one hand and carrying her black satchel. It was the bag he had given her for her birthday last year.

“Good morning, Sam!” he said cheerfully as he opened the door.

“Good morning, Harry. I came to use your computer again.”

“Sam, I forgot to tell you, but my computer’s gotten a virus and I’m going to have to wipe the hard drive before you can use it. I tried the other day to type something, but when I went to save it, it completely erased everything I had on the disk . . .”

“Oh, gee, I’m sorry.” Sam sighed. “I’ll come back next week or something.”

“You’re welcome to come in anyway, if you like. I just got up.”

“I noticed.” Sam grinned. “You know, it really is too bad that you’re gay. You are really good-looking.”

Harry beamed. “Thanks. Can I get you some breakfast?”

“I already had some, but thanks anyway. Hey, Harry? Would you mind reading one of my stories?”

“Of course. Let me make some coffee and I’ll get right on it. What’s it about?”

“It’s the story I’m going to turn in for the Author’s Contest at school. I just want to know what you think.”

After a few minutes, Harry sat down at his kitchen table with a cup of coffee and Sam’s story. Her handwriting was small and neat. It reminded him very much of his dear friend Hermione’s writing . . .

“The Man Who Lives Next Door?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, well, my teachers always tell me to write about what I know best. And I spend every Saturday over here and I come by every day after school and everything . . . well, I know a lot about you. So I’ve written this story about us.”

Harry smirked. “So this has everything about how you used to come over in the middle of the night when your father was angry, and how you’d spend all day every day on my computer typing?”

“Well, not exactly. Just read it.”

Harry’s brow furrowed as his eyes darted over the paper. Sam took out a pen and opened her notebook to a spot about half-way through it and began writing hurriedly. Her story was long, about ten pages, but Harry finished it quickly. He sighed and looked up.

“So, what did you think?”

“Sam – Sam, I . . .”

“Harry? Is something wrong? I tried my best to get the details right, but I’ve never read passed the first book, so I called up Jenny last night and asked her a few questions . . .”

“No, no, it’s – it’s very good. Very – original.”

“Yeah, well, it came to me just before I went to bed last night and I just had to write it. I thought it would be cool if you were the Harry Potter from the books, you know. No one would believe it if I told them the truth. I won’t get in trouble with you or J.K., will I? For borrowing your story?”

“As long as you aren’t planning on selling it . . .” Harry choked.

“I’m just going to enter it in the story contest, nothing more. Although, if I win, I get one hundred pounds.”

Harry blinked. That was quite a bit of money for a school writing competition prize. “You shouldn’t have any problems winning.” Harry forced a smile. But the thought of the story was haunting him.

“I’m – I’m going to take a shower,” Harry said shakily.

Sam bent back over her notebook and began furiously scribbling away at a story while Harry made a dash for the sanctuary of his bathroom. He closed the door and leaned his forehead against it, breathing heavily. How on earth could she have written something like that?

The story had been the exact truth, not made up as Sam thought. Of course, she had not mentioned anything about his relationship with Draco. That had indeed been so short Harry wasn’t sure exactly what had happened. And no one had known anything about it. And J.K. had specifically told Harry not to tell her anything too graphic. They were children’s books after all . . .

But the fact that Sam had written it from Harry’s point of view made him feel slightly uneasy. She had gotten every emotion right. Harry almost felt that he had written it himself. He knew Sam had an uncanny talent for sensing the feelings of others, but he thought that had merely been from her Psychology class. How much did she really know about him.

The shower magically worked today. Harry was sure he hadn’t done anything to it, even if by accident, so it came as quite a shock. But he hastily washed and climbed out. He towel dried his hair and wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror. 

He had changed a lot in fifteen years. He worked out every single day and was lean and muscled, and he was still quite young. No gray hairs dared to tangle themselves in the black mess of hair atop his head. The scar – that awful scar that had changed his life for so long – had nearly faded from his use of a Muggle scar remover. His eyes had not changed a bit. They hadn’t dulled with age. His glasses had changed. Gone were the round frames he’d once worn, to be replaced with a more geometric frame. Geometric. They didn’t look geometric to Harry. But that’s what the guy at the optometrist office had told him.

Harry wondered bitterly if any of his old friends would recognize him. He pulled on his clothes and stretched, feeling the tightness of the denim jeans and the snugness of his tee-shirt. He’d gotten clothes that fit him. Clothes that his overly large cousin had not already gone through. It was nice, being on his own, away from everything. But it was lonely, too. If Harry didn’t have Sam next door, he thought maybe he’d go crazy.

“Harry!” Sam was yelling for him. “Harry, I think you should come down here!”

He opened the door and found himself staring into a pair of very surprised brown eyes. Harry staggered backward, taking in the man before him. He was a tall, thin man, with rather long red hair that he’d brushed back behind his ears. As Harry stared, the man began to turn red, beginning with his ears.

“Um, hi, Harry.”

“Ron?” Harry blinked. He hadn’t seen Ron Weasley in fifteen years.

“Erm, yeah. Hi.”

“Ron what – what are you doing here? What – how did you find me?”

“Percy helped me. We – I needed to talk to you.”

“Harry?” Sam had appeared just behind Ron and was looking quickly from the red head to Harry.

“Sam, I hate to do this to you, but I’m going to have to ask you to go home,” Harry choked.

Sam nodded and went back down stairs. Harry heard the front door close as she slipped out and let out a sigh. He hadn’t realized that he was holding his breath.

“Harry?” Ron stepped forward. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Harry murmured. “Just fine.”

“Look, Harry, I came here today because – okay, listen, I know you aren’t going to be too happy about this but . . . we need your help.”

Harry’s eyes were glazed over as he stared at his once best friend. “What do you mean?”

“Us – me and Hermione. We – Harry, Hermione lost a baby.”

Harry’s mouth fell open slightly. “What?”

“She was several months pregnant, and then there was an accident . . . She’s lost a baby, Harry, and she wanted me to come and get you. We – we miss you, mate.”

“You missing me didn’t make a difference earlier, did it?” Harry growled. He really had no idea why he was being so rude to Ron. He wanted desperately to throw his arms around his friend’s neck and hug him for all he was worth.

“Look, Harry,” Ron began uncertainly. “Dumbledore – I mean, we really wanted you to come back to us, but Dumbledore said you needed your space. He wouldn’t tell us where you were. Oh, Harry, Hermy and I looked and looked for you, but we couldn’t find you anywhere. We have a son named after you, Harry, and we wanted you to be the children’s godfather, but Neville’d been helping us out after his gran died and well . . . sorry Harry.”

Harry felt miserable. Ron took another step forward.

“It’s my fault, Ron,” Harry murmured. “I just can’t go back. Too many memories. Too much pain.”

Ron suddenly embraced him and the two men stood together for a moment. Then Ron pulled away and looked into Harry’s eyes. Harry found himself wishing he’d never left his friends.

“Don’t blame yourself, mate. It – you – Merlin, Harry, I’d probably have run away, too. But Hermione . . . I was in love with her, Harry. I would’ve had to stay with her.”

“So what do you really need me for? She loves you.”

“She loves you too, Harry! You’re our best friend! And she’s ill and wants you to come and visit her. According to the healers, she’ll be on bed rest for the next two weeks. She nearly died, Harry.”

Harry suddenly found it difficult to swallow owing to a large lump that had lodged itself in his throat. He furiously blinked back tears and buried his face in his hands.

“Don’t you understand?” Harry moaned piteously. “I can’t – I can’t face her. I just can’t!”

“What happened to all of your Gryffindor courage?” Ron snapped angrily, not quite believing what he was hearing. He’d thought getting Harry to come and see Hermione would have been easy, considering how close the three of them had been. “What would everyone think if they knew their savior was running from them – trying to pretend we didn’t exist? What would everyone say? You can’t even come for one day to see your old friends. Not even to see our children! Harry, we’ve got a son named for you, and you won’t even consent to drop by for a brief visit.”

“I can’t face her. I can’t face any of it. I - I lost everything!” Harry snarled.

“No, you abandoned everything. It’s going to break Hermy’s heart when I tell her you wouldn’t even visit! What if she had died, huh? Would you have even come to the funeral?”

“GET OUT!” Harry forced his friend into the hallway. “GET OUT NOW! LEAVE ME ALONE! DON’T YOU EVER COME BACK!”

Harry was aware that his tears had broken free and were tumbling down his cheeks, but he didn’t care. He’d been doing so well, he thought, until Ron had showed up. True, not a day went by when he hadn’t thought about some aspect of the wizarding world, whether it had been cleansing charms or one of his old friends, but the pain and memories had been pushed into the back of his mind and they no longer stung. That was, until this red-head had come barging into his house . . .

He saw Ron falling down the stairs is if in slow motion. He’d pushed him out of the bathroom and down the hall, but when had they reached the stairs? Thunk, thunk, the man plummeted down the stairs and finally landed at the bottom with an earsplitting crack. Dazed, Ron glanced up at Harry and mouthed something, but immediately Disapparated. Apparently, Harry was much more dangerous than Ron had realized.

Harry collapsed on the floor, letting his sobs rack his body. He became aware that his nose was buried in the not-so-clean carpet and that something wet and warm was touching his face.

“Snuffles, go,” Harry choked through his tears. “Just go away.”

But the dog stubbornly lay down beside his master, gazing lovingly into Harry’s red-rimmed green eyes. Harry tried to swat the dog away, but it wouldn’t budge. Snuffles was determined to get his master to stop crying.

For hours, Harry lay on the floor. His tears had long since dried up, but he couldn’t get his thoughts or memories out of his head. Draco . . . his beautiful head of silver blonde hair, those silvery eyes . . . his pale, pointed face . . . his beautiful, lean body and pink nipples . . . that trail of fair hair that led from his navel to his . . . 

Harry didn’t realize that he’d long since fallen asleep, his face buried in the carpet, his dog at his side. He didn’t hear the front door open, didn’t hear the footsteps on the stairs, didn’t here the voice that called out his name. All he could think about was Draco, and it was fitting that when his visitor spoke, the voice he heard in his head was the drawling voice of his lover.

“Harry?”


	3. Youre a What?

Chapter Three: You’re a What?

“Harry?”

The 32-year-old man opened his bloodshot eyes and looked up. He was still curled on the carpet, Snuffles at his side. Brown eyes met his and for a moment Harry thought Ron was still there. But then the rest of the face swan into focus. No, it was that girl from next-door. What was her name? Harry’s mind was frozen. He couldn’t think; he could only stare stupidly at the teenage girl hovering concernedly over him.

“Harry? Are you all right? Can you hear me?”

Harry moaned in response and rolled over fully onto his back. Snuffles was instantly on his feet, licking his master’s tear-stained face.

“Harry? What happened to you? Was it that man? I told him he shouldn’t have come up here, but he wouldn’t listen. I don’t even know how he got in! One minute he wasn’t there and then I turned around and found him staring at me . . . It was creepy. I think maybe he broke in or something.”

“He – had – a – a key,” Harry stammered, hoping Sam would believe him. “We – we used to be friends.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t know you had any friends.” Harry was very aware that his neighbour was sitting next to him on the floor, leaning over him. He felt fingers on his face and closed his eyes. She brushed away a few strands of messy hair from his forehead and gazed sadly at him. When it came to Harry, Sam sometimes felt an overwhelming urge to be motherly. She supposed it was her maternal instincts kicking in.

“Can I get you anything? Water or – or something?”

“No, thanks,” Harry murmured. “Just – help me up.”  
She took his hand and pulled him to his feet. Snuffles barked happily and wagged his tail when he saw his master was okay, and began running in circles, trying to catch his tail. Sam helped Harry into his bedroom and he dropped wearily onto the messy bed, trying to remember how many hours it had been since he awoke.

“Just lie down,” Sam said firmly, pushing Harry back onto the bed and smoothing his sheets. “You must be hungry. It’s nearly time for tea! And you hardly ate anything at breakfast. I’ll just be back with some soup and sandwiches.”

Harry smiled weakly at her as she left the room. She reminded him forcefully of Ron Weasley’s mother, Molly. She had been a very loving, motherly sort of woman, and one of the only people to truly care about Harry’s well-being. He closed his tired, aching eyes and sighed. How on earth could he be this tired already? He’d fallen asleep on the carpet there, and had gotten up late, to boot. But he couldn’t deny the pounding in his head, the strange, fuzzy feeling that crept over him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think he was already asleep. But he couldn’t be, could he?

“The path is clear, My Lord. Potter is completely out of the way. Our spies tell us that he cannot bring himself to face the wizarding world ever again. Lord Voldemort’s plan worked only too well.” A young man with flaming red hair and horn-rimmed glasses knelt before a high-backed chair. The only thing that could be seen over the chair was a bit of bald head.

“Good, good, Percy. This is wonderful news! You have done well. You shall be rewarded. And your brother?”

“Didn’t know he was spying for us. His wife, that pitiful Granger girl, was in an accident, as you know, My Lord. An accident that I caused. She lost her baby and I placed her under the Imperious so she would ask for Potter. Ron went to the man’s house today and he flatly refused to return to us. It is a pity. We might have been able to join forces, something Voldemort failed to do.”

“Excellent news, Percy. Now, you must return home. Your father, I think, may be growing suspicious. It may be time to ‘take care’ of him.”

Percy bowed his head. “Yes, My Lord. I understand. He has loved Muggles for far too long . . .”

“And Malfoy’s whereabouts are not yet known?”

“No. Apparently, Professor Snape was his secret keeper. He’s in St. Mungo’s now. There’s no way he’ll be able to reveal his information.”

“Oh, he might if questioned the right way. Very powerful wizards can break Memory Charms, you know.”

“But My Lord, it wasn’t a Memory Charm. He was tortured . . .”

“That is what the public was made to think, but in reality, I placed him under the Charm. Have Bella go to St. Mungo’s tonight and question Snape. I daresay the sight of his old friend might – ah – bring back a few of those memories. Oh, and Percy, you must remember about your father. I shall have you back here in two days.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Percy rose to his feet and gave a low, graceful bow, then turned at walked out of the room. Everything became dark and Harry Potter sat straight up in bed. 

The first thing he noticed was that it was dark outside, but his bedside lamp was lit. Second, he noticed a tray with a bowl of soup and a sandwich lay on his bedside cabinet. And third, he noticed something that pushed his dream out of his mind. The magical photo album which had been lying on his desk was now missing.

His eyes darted to the shelf, but there was still a gap there, which meant it was still out somewhere. He quickly got out of bed and ran his fingers through his wild black hair. Someone had taken the album, he was sure. But who could have done it? The only person who’d been in his room had been . . .

“Sam.” Harry mouthed in horror. He tore out of his bedroom and down the stairs. The lights downstairs were all still on. He looked around, hoping to see the album laying somewhere, but it wasn’t. There was a note on his kitchen table, however.

“Harry,” it read. “I borrowed your photo album. Hope you don’t mind. I wanted to get to know more about you. It’s very interesting. Love, Sam.”

Harry’s legs nearly gave way beneath him. She had the album. She’d read the first book. She would know what was going on! She would know the story she had written was true! She would know he was – had been – a . . . 

He suddenly found himself at the front door of the Turner’s house. Harry rang the bell and waited the house seemed deserted. He looked at his watch. It was nearly midnight. How on earth had he slept that long?

A light from the second story clicked on and the front door suddenly swung open. A very angry-looking Ryan Turner blinked at Harry. How dare this man wake him up at midnight! What on earth could he want?

“Ryan, I need to talk to Sam. Immediately. It – it’s about one of her stories.”

Ryan opened his mouth to yell something, but his wife appeared on the stairs behind him and peered out into the darkness.

“Who is it Ryan?” Elizabeth yawned.

“Potter,” Ryan spat, wheeling around to face his wife. “He wants to talk to Sam.”

“I’ll get her,” Elizabeth said quietly. “And then he can talk to her and go home. It’s a school night, Mr. Potter.”

“Well, she – er – has something of mine that she took on accident, and I really need it back.”

Sam came down the stairs a moment later, wide awake, carrying the leather-bound album in her hands. She was pale and shaking.

“Sam,” Harry gasped. “You – how could you?”

“I thought you meant for me to find it!” Sam said in barely more than a whisper. “It was just lying there on top of your desk, so I took it and . . . I know I shouldn’t have.”

Harry wasn’t exactly sure what to say. Ryan and Elizabeth were staring at him, so he couldn’t very well discuss anything with Sam. She placed the album in his hands and took a step back, as though she were afraid of him. He gulped and looked around at the family in front of him.

“Look, don’t you dare tell anyone at school about this, okay? Come over tomorrow after school and – and I’ll let you print your story. I’m going to wipe the hard drive tonight. Thank you, Mr. Turner, Elizabeth. I’m so sorry to disturb you.”

And with that, Harry turned around and pelted back over the garden wall and into his own house. Shaking nearly as much as Sam, he collapsed on his sofa and thumbed through the pages. He had been so happy in these pictures, and then the bottom had fallen out of everything. He turned to the page that showed the Order of the Phoenix picture and let his eye roam over the page, stopping every now and then to gaze into the tiny moving face of one of his friends.

Remus Lupin. He’d died trying to save Harry’s dearest friend, Draco Malfoy. Seamus Finnegan. He’d been killed by a Death Eater a week after Voldemort died. The Patil twins. They, too, had died after this picture had been taken. 

Dumbledore, Hagrid, Mad-Eye Moody, Nymphadora Tonks, Minerva McGonagall, Kinsley Shacklebolt and his young wife, Deena, Justin Finch-Fletchly, Hannah Abbot, Susan Bones, Ernie Macmillan, Blaise Zabini, Penelope Clearwater, Oliver Wood, Viktor Krum, Bill, Charlie, and Ginny Weasley, Dean Thomas, and then there was Severus Snape, who had trained Harry to be able to kill the Dark Lord. And he was in St. Mungo’s with no memories. He was as good as dead, not recognizing anyone or anything. 

Nearly all of the deaths had come after the demise of Voldemort. They had all been killed by disgruntled Death Eaters, fighting to stay in power. Antonin Dolohov had even named himself the next Dark Lord, but he had been taken down easily by Hermione Granger. But there were already too many losses to count. And what was worse, they all seemed to be people Harry knew and cared about. The Weasleys, Lupin, Draco . . . If only none of this had ever happened. Maybe then he could have remained in the Wizarding World. But not now.

Harry was torn from his musings by his door-bell ringing. He got up and crept silently to the window and peered out. It was Sam. And from the look on her face, he could tell her father had begun to raid his liquor cabinet.

“Harry!” She cried in relief as he swung open the door. “Oh, thank God! He’s really, really angry! I only just got away before he goes on rampage. But he knows I’m here! He could come barging in any minute!”

It took a full minute for what Sam said to register with Harry’s numb mind. He slammed shut his front door and drew the bolt. Sam began locking the windows and then ran into the kitchen and locked the door and windows there, as well, before collapsing into a dining chair.

“Sam, while you’re here,” Harry began nervously, laying his album down on the table and taking the chair opposite her. “I think we need to discuss few things.”

“I know I shouldn’t have taken it,” Sam whispered. “But it was just lying there, and . . . and I hardly know anything about you, really. I wanted to see pictures.”

“You saw them, all right.” Harry groaned and ran his fingers through his tangle of hair again. Really, it was getting far too long. Whatever would Molly Weasley say?

“It’s all true, isn’t it?” Sam asked breathlessly. “The stuff that happened in those books. And you lied to me to cover it all up. To protect the wizarding world. Is the Ministry of Magic going to come and erase my memory?”

“As long as you don’t tell another soul, the Ministry will never know. But – I – Oh, Merlin, this is difficult!”

“And you really do use Merlin as a mild curse, don’t you? Oh, Harry, nothing this incredible has ever happened to me before! And – and my story, it must have been very nearly true! That’s why you got so upset when you read it.”

“Yes, it was all true. But that’s all behind me now. I – I am no longer a wizard. I don’t care for that life anymore. Too many problems, and they all want me to solve them. And besides, my marks weren’t good enough to become and Auror, so there really wasn’t any reason for me to stay.”

“But, you aren’t a wizard anymore? How could you just give all of that up? And what’s an Auror? Jenny didn’t mention anything about that.”

Harry sighed and resigned himself to explaining everything. He knew he had to answer all of her questions, otherwise she’d just be confused. And a confused Muggle was the worst kind of Muggle.

“I – well – after everything was over and done with, I couldn’t stay behind. Too many people I knew had lost their lives, and I knew much of it was my fault. You see, my plan for killing Voldemort backfired and I nearly died myself. As it was, my Potions Master managed to get the worst of it. He’s been in the hospital now for about fifteen years, trying to get his memory back. And the Death Eaters, Voldemort’s followers, all escaped before I’d had a chance to kill them. And they - came back and – killed my friends. I couldn’t face anyone, and I still can’t. I don’t – think I’ll ever be able to. Oh, and Aurors are dark wizard catchers. I think that’s first mentioned in the fourth book.”

“Will you let me read the books?” Sam asked, not taking her eyes from Harry’s. “I think I could read all seven of them tonight, if you’d let me!”

Harry hesitated. Would she think differently about him once she’d read everything? Once he explained exactly how everything had happened? He hoped against hope that she would not treat him as the other wizards did. But then again, she was a Muggle. Perhaps she wouldn’t feel the same, having never known the threat which had gripped the world.

She had a strange grin on her face. He gave her a puzzled look and her grin broadened.

“I – I was just thinking, about how in the first book Hagrid came to tell you that you were a wizard. And you wanted to deny it all. ‘I’m a what?’ I think you said. I feel very much as you must have felt, sitting here and learning that all of that stuff was true and that there really is a whole world that we – I mean – Muggles haven’t explored. It – it’s a bit exciting. But I suppose I’ll never get to see any of it? Besides what’s in the books, I mean.”

“You are a Muggle,” Harry said sadly, getting up. “I’ll bring you the books, but you can’t stay up all night reading them. You have school tomorrow.”

“I’m not going to school tomorrow, and I’m not going home, either. Dad can just punch the walls through; I’m not going to let him hit me, now or ever again. I had enough of that.”

Harry grinned as he left the kitchen and toward the cupboard under his stairs. Sam watched as he shuddered when the door opened. She’d read about that. He’s spent ten years in a cupboard. It was a wonder he could even go near one. He rummaged about in there for a moment and then pulled something out. It was a boxed set of the books – all with leather bindings and all signed, first by Harry and then by J.K. the woman who had written down everything Harry had told her about his life. Sam blinked in amazement as Harry plunked the box down in front of her.

“It’s all yours. Keep it. But it’s very valuable, don’t you understand. So take good care of it.”

“Oh, I will!” And she plucked out the Chamber of Secrets and instantly buried her nose in it. Harry grinned and went back into the living room.

“I’ll just set up a bed for you on the sofa, then, shall I?” He called. Sam murmured something and he took it as a yes and began taking sheets out of the linen cupboard. He suddenly felt two pairs of strong hands on his arms and tried to cry out, but a hand clamped over his mouth.

“Now, before you go screaming bloody murder -” began a very familiar voice.  
“- just let us tell you why we’ve come.” A second voice finished.

Harry closed his eyes and wondered when the surprise visits would ever stop.

 

Author’s Note: Oh, such a cliff-hanger. But anyone with an ounce of sense knows who just showed up. And the dream, eh? I’d say he’s forgotten all about it by now, wouldn’t you? Just who is this new Lord anyway? But I promise, his memory will improve as the story goes on. He’s just having a Neville Longbottom moment. Ah, and so am I. I can’t remember whether this is the third or fourth chapter! Oh, it’s the third. Good. Too bad no one’s invented a real Remembrall yet. I could use one . . .


	4. A Trip to the Burrow

Disclaimer: I own Samantha and her family. Everything else belongs to the lovely J.K. Rowling.

 

Chapter Four: A Trip to the Burrow

 

“Fred, George,” Harry stammered, spinning around. 

“Yeah, it’s us,” Fred grinned.

“We thought you could use some company –”

“- Seeing how you kicked our brother out of here earlier.”

“Yeah, we thought maybe living among Muggles had made you go loony or something.”

Harry managed to smile weakly and then looked past the twins into the kitchen. Sam still had her nose buried in the book, reading for all she was worth. She paid no attention to the two visitors.

“What are you two doing?” he hissed at the twins, pulling them into his makeshift library just off the corridor.

“Look, Harry, Ron told us you seemed lost –”

“- Loony, more like it,” George muttered, fingering the spines of Harry’s precious books.

“And we felt we’d have better luck getting you to come.” Fred finished firmly.

“No one blames you for the deaths, Harry,” George said softly, turning now to face Harry.

Harry once again found talking difficult due to the persistent lump in his throat. He looked from Fred to George quickly and sighed.

“That’s not exactly why I –” Harry began.

“Yeah, well, that’s what everyone thinks, you know –”

“- If you’d just consent to popping over for a brief visit, we’d leave you alone. I mean, we’d just conveniently forget that there’s another Dark Lord running amuck out there –”

“- And you can just sit in here, safe and sound while the rest of us fight this new madman.”

Harry wasn’t quite sure what to say. He stood in front of the redheaded men, staring first at one, and then the other. It suddenly struck him just how alike they both were. Fred was the mirror image of George. Their movements were similar, their voices were similar, their attitudes were similar. It was like looking at one person reflected in a mirror. 

“So, Harry,” Fred stared directly into the emerald eyes of his friend, “Are you coming?”

“Or do we have to drag you bodily with us? Mum’s been hounding us for hours, ever since Ickle Ronnykins came home with bruises, to get over here and at least kick your ass for hurting our little brother.” George was now staring at Harry the exact same way as his brother.

“Well, I – I have company,” Harry stammered. “My neighbour is here, and I – I have to keep an eye on her.”

“Oh, you mean the girl in the kitchen?” Fred poked his head out the door. 

“She seems like a regular Hermione,” George grumbled.

“We can bring her with us, if necessary.”

“We heard you talking to her, you know.”

“We heard everything. We could go to Dad, he still works at the Ministry.” Fred grinned.

“You could go to Azkaban, you could.” George smirked. 

Harry knew when to give in. The twins were perfectly capable of dragging him to the Burrow, and the last thing he needed was for Sam to get into trouble with Ministry. She seemed so keen to remember the things Harry told her.

“All right, fine,” Harry sighed. “But we have to bring Sam along, okay? Her – her father tends to go on rampage when he gets drunk and – and he hits her. I promised her I’d protect her.”

“Bring her along!” Fred exclaimed, taking Harry’s arm as his twin took Harry’s other. Together they dragged him out into the living room. Sam didn’t look up as the three of them entered the kitchen.

“Ahem,” Harry cleared his throat, but Sam, her eyes darting back and forth over the page of the book she was reading, didn’t look up.

“Oy!” Fred said.

“Hey, Muggle!” George said loudly.

Only then did Sam look up. There was a look of shock on her face when she recognized the twins. They grinned broadly at her and noticed the title of the book she was reading.

“So, did you get to the Burrow yet?” Harry asked casually, noticing that Fred had reached into his pocket and was gripping his wand.

“Yeah,” Sam breathed. “I just still can’t believe all this is real.”

“Come on, Harry. If we’re any later getting home, Mum’ll kill us.”

“Sam, we’re going to the Weasley’s house for a bit. You’re coming, too. You can bring the books, if you like,” he added hastily, seeing Sam’s look.

“Right, now hurry, up,” Fred commanded, producing his wand. 

“Hope you still know how to Apparate, Harry,” George chuckled.

“We’re going to Apparate?” Sam asked eagerly, clutching the boxed book set as she rose from the table. “But I’m a Muggle!”

“Just take Harry’s arm,” Fred said. 

“And hang on tight. Harry’s Apparating has always been a bit erratic.” George snickered.

“Right, on the count of three,” Harry said softly as Sam’s fingernails dug into his arm through his long-sleeved shirt. “One, two, three!”

Sam felt as though she was being pushed through a very small tube. She couldn’t breathe! She felt like her ears might have been trying to stay behind, and two of her fingers, as well, but when the strange sensations stopped, she found herself standing outside of a very strange-looking and lopsided house. 

A strange feeling surged through Sam. She’d never once in her life imagined that something from a book could be real, and here she was standing next to and in front of, the living proof.

A light appeared a few feet from them and Sam heard the voice of a woman that could only be Molly Weasley.

“There you are!” She caught onto Harry’s arm and began dragging him toward the house. “Ron came home hours ago looking like he’d gotten in a fight and said you’d pushed him down the stairs. I couldn’t believe my ears! You, my sweet, loving, adorable boy, pushing my son down the stairs.”

“I’m really sorry about that, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry hung his head. “It really didn’t mean to push him down the stairs. I just wanted him to leave.”

“And what’s all this about you giving up magic, Harry? Someone like you should be working at the Ministry. Lord knows we could use someone like you as Minister . . .”

Molly led Harry up to the house. Fred and George shrugged their shoulders at each other and turned to Sam.

“She might realize that you’re here in a few days,” Fred said with a grin.

“Come on. She’s bound to make dinner for Harry. Maybe we can nick a bit.”

And Sam followed the twins into the Burrow, wondering whether this was really just some fantastic dream and whether she would ever have to wake up.

 

Author’s Note: Short, I know. After this chapter I intend to update once a week. If you are really following this story, be prepared for chapter five next Friday. Sorry for the wait, guys, but I’m trying to give myself time to finish the entire story, and not force myself to rush. In the meantime, check out my other fics, UNTIL DEATH DO US PART and HARRY POTTER AND THE CHILD OF DARKNESS. Please feel free to leave a review, it might feed my ego and make me update faster.


	5. Break In

Disclaimer: I own Samantha and her family. Everything else belongs to the lovely J.K. Rowling.

 

Chapter Five: Break In

“And this is my next-door-neighbour, Samantha Turner,” Harry laid his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “She knows about everything,” he added to Mr. Weasley.

“But she’s a Muggle!” Mr. Weasley leapt from his chair and began to shake Sam’s arm nearly off. Apparently, no matter how many times Arthur Weasley got promoted, he’d always love everything Muggle. “And you’ve been living as a Muggle, Harry! That’s one of my dreams, you know, to live among Muggles. Along with finding out how airplanes stay up.”

“Dad still hasn’t managed to do that,” Ron laughed, rescuing Sam. “C’mon, Harry. Hermione’s awake now. Dad, don’t bother Sam, okay? She’s got a lot of reading to do.”

Ron pulled Harry up the stairs and paused outside a door. “Hermy? You’ve got a visitor.”

Harry smirked. “Hermy?”

“Yeah, well,” Ron’s face became a deep shade of red, “I used to call her that to annoy her, but now it’s more of a nickname.” He pushed open the bedroom door and Harry saw his other best friend lying in bed, her bushy brown hair lying limp on her pillow. She looked up as Harry came in and smiled weakly.

“I knew you’d come,” she said softly. Harry came closer to her bed and sat down in a chair someone had placed near her pillow. “Ron said you weren’t coming, but I knew you’d come.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmured, staring into her glassy brown eyes. “I should’ve come when Ron asked me too. I was just . . .”

“Afraid,” Hermione suggested.

Harry blushed and nodded. Hermione always seemed to know what was going on with him, what he was thinking, how he felt, what he’d been doing. 

“It was my fault that Bill and Charlie and Ginny died,” he whispered. “And I didn’t think I could, you know . . .”

“No one blames you for that, Harry. They died fighting for the Order of the Phoenix. They died taking down Death Eaters. They died avenging Dumbledore and Cedric and Sirius. It was not your fault.”

“Yeah, well,” Harry began.

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes. She looked very ill and pale and thin. What kind of accident had she been in, exactly?  
“We’d better let her get some rest, Harry,” Ron said softly. “She – she tends to tire easily.”

Harry gave Hermione’s thin hand a squeeze and followed Ron out of the room and down the stairs. Once they were downstairs, Harry turned to Ron and began to bombard him with questions.

“What kind of accident did she have? Is she going to make it? Why the hell did no one tell me earlier that she was sick?”

“I did tell you!” Ron said angrily. “Yesterday morning, I told you. And you didn’t care enough to come.”

“It wasn’t because I didn’t care!”

“Oh, no,” Ron’s voice was growing louder and louder with each word he spoke. “You were just too afraid to come and see and your best friend before she dies. You were just too scared to see any of us, afraid of what we’d think, afraid that you’d feel sad. SHE’S DYING, HARRY! I DIDN’T TELL YOU YESTERDAY BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T SEEM TO CARE!”

Harry swallowed hard. It took several minutes for him to realize that Ron was crying. Tears streamed down his friend’s face and it suddenly hit him that Ron was losing his wife. Not just his best friend, but his wife, the mother of his children. He awkwardly put his arms around his friend and held Ron as he cried, murmuring apologies as he patted his friend on the back. After several minutes, Ron regained his control and pulled away.

“Look, I –”

“Just forget it.” Harry clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier.”

“S’okay,” Ron mumbled. “But she – she’s really dying, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

“What sort of accident did she have?” Harry asked again, much more calmly.

“Hermy worked at the Ministry, you know. She’d somehow persuaded Scrimgeour to give her a department that dealt with house elves and their treatment. Anyway, she was on her way home from work and a stray Death Eater mistook her for an Auror and . . .”

Ron trailed off, staring at the ugly floral wallpaper of the stairwell. 

“What happened to the Death Eater?” 

“Got away. Percy showed up and got her to St. Mungo’s, but by then it was too late and the baby had already died. I’ve never seen her so upset. And then when she found out that she was dying, too, and that no one at St. Mungo’s could save her, well, she said immediately that I should go and get you so you could spend time with her before . . .”

Ron trailed off again, staring, unseeing, and the wall. He obviously could not say another word without bursting into tears again, so Harry patted him a few more times on the back and then went into the kitchen.

Something Ron had said reminded Harry of a dream he’d had just before Sam took his photo album. Mr. Weasley and Sam were engaged in a rather heated discussion about whether electricity was a good substitute for magic or not. Sam, of course, said that magic was better than electricity just because of the sheer amount of things one could do with it, but Mr. Weasley was saying no, it wasn’t, because there was so much that could go wrong. Both knew they were right, and the discussion had just turned into a fully fledged argument when Harry walked in.

“Harry, tell Sam that electricity is better than magic in many cases!” Mr. Weasley said irritably.

“No, Mr. Weasley, it isn’t!” Sam said in earnest. “Because you can’t just press a button and have all of your chores done. But with a wand, you can just give it a flick and everything begins to move!”

“Not unless you know exactly how to do it! I mean, if you cast the spell badly . . .”

“If you study how to do it, though, and learn exactly how it should be done, then it is so much easier than using electricity. And besides, the power goes out in storms and gets interfered with and all sorts of stuff. And it won’t work near areas of concentrated magic, like Hogwarts. So it’s really even less reliable than magic . . .”

“Hey, enough!” Harry held up both hands to silence them. “I didn’t bring you here to get into arguments, Sam. Why don’t you just go read somewhere?”

Sam scowled, but picked up her book again and wandered into the living room to read. Harry pulled out a chair and sat down at the kitchen table with Mr. Weasley.

“Is there something you want to talk about, Harry?” Mr. Weasley asked, pushing his horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Erm, yeah, actually,” Harry squirmed a bit, trying to figure out how to begin. “Fred and George said something about a new Dark Lord . . .”

“Ah, so that’s what’s bothering you, is it?” Mr. Weasley bowed his head, looking grave. “Well, this Dark Lord is nowhere near as powerful as well, You-Know- Who, but so far none of the Aurors have been able to catch him or his followers. Scrimgeour suspects that there is a spy inside the Department of Magical Law Enforcement itself, but Percy has been in charge of the investigation and so far nothing has turned up.”

Harry’s stomach gave a sudden jolt as bits and pieces of the memory came back to him. A redheaded man with horn-rimmed glasses kneeling before an armchair. Percy. Percy was working for the new Dark Lord.

“What’s he called? This new Dark Lord?”

“Eh?” Mr. Weasley had been gazing at Harry’s digital wristwatch and hadn’t been listening. “Oh, um, rumor has it he’s calling himself Morda, but no one really knows. It’s a big secret, you know.”

“Morda?”

“Oh, yes, well, it’s a name from a book written some time ago by Lloyd Alexander. Morda was this seriously evil wizard who used an enchanted gem to turn his enemies into animals. Whoever this new guy is, he isn’t very original. And the name isn’t very menacing. It sounds almost like a girl’s name.”

“Um, Mr. Weasley? Have you talked to Percy recently?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact he and I are going out tonight in order to do some catching up. He hasn’t exactly been close to us since that year after You-Know-Who came back, but He’s apologized and we’re trying to get to know him again. Funny. We’re trying to get to know our own son.”

“I don’t think you should go out alone with him, Mr. Weasley,” Harry said slowly. “I think Ron or I should go, too.”

“I’m sure he’d be delighted if you came along, Harry!” Mr. Weasley exclaimed. “So does that mean you’re coming!”

“Erm, yeah, I guess. As long as Sam can stay here. It’s a bit too dangerous at her house.”

“Fred and George said you’d sheltered her from her father. It’s very nice of you, you know. She’s welcome to stay here.”

“She won’t be any trouble. She’ll probably just sit and read.”

“Well, good. I’ll meet you down here later then and we can both meet him together. But honestly, I don’t know why you are so concerned. Percy is my son.”

“I’m just – well, if Percy is investigating, someone may want the chance to attack him while he’s relatively unprotected.” Harry hoped Mr. Weasley wouldn’t see through his lie. But he’d remembered Morda, if that’s what he was really called, telling Percy that his father needed to be killed.

“Good point,” Mr. Weasley stood up and stretched. “I’d better be getting off to work. Goodbye, Harry. It’s nice to have you back.”

‘But I’m not back,’ Harry thought sadly. ‘At least, not for good.’

 

“Sam, I’m going home for just a bit. If you would like to come with me, you can.” Harry peered into the living room and found Samantha curled up in an overstuffed armchair, her nose buried in the Prisoner of Azkaban. Boy, that girl read fast.

“Yeah, I’ll come. Fred and George told me you’re going out to meet Percy tonight and that I’m to stay here, and I need to get some stuff.”

Harry frowned. “How did they hear about that?”

Samantha pulled a piece of flesh coloured string out of her pocket and held it up. “They gave me a complete set of joke stuff. Even a fake wand, look!” She drew it out of her pocket and gave it a determined flick. The end of it exploded and a rubber snake shot out of the end. Sam laughed and put both the snake and the wand back into her pocket.

“And they said that when I came back they’d take me to Diagon Alley and let me browse their shop. And if you give me some money I can buy anything I like, half price!” Sam was definitely excited about getting into Diagon Alley.

He suddenly remembered when he’d first been told he was a wizard and how he’d wanted to examine everything in Diagon Alley at once, how strange it was to walk down a street and see witches buying beetles eyes and broomsticks. But the novelty had worn off after so many years, and it became a rather mundane thing.

“Sure, okay. You’ll have to go to Gringott’s and get some money out of my vault. Ron’s got my key. But sure, you can go with them. But come on, we’ve got to get home for now.”

Samantha tucked her books under her arm and took hold of Harry’s hand. That strange sensation of being squeezed through a pipe hit her, but after only a second it was gone and she was standing in Harry’s kitchen. 

Something was definitely wrong, though. The windows were all shattered and the glass lay scattered over the linoleum floor. The back door was wide open and swinging on its hinges. Sam looked around, gaping at the debris. The table and chairs in the dining room had been completely knocked over.

Harry told Sam to stay where she was and he stepped cautiously into the living room, looking around. His sofa was overturned and there were several books lying scattered about the room as though they had been knocked over. The drawers of his end tables had all been pulled out and there were papers scattered everywhere. Whoever had done this was looking for something.

The television and stereo were still in place. If it had been a burglar they would be missing. Harry suddenly wished he had his wand with him. There was a strange feeling lingering in these rooms, as though the house had been touched by magic. He reached out and picked up his photo album, which thankfully, had not been damaged beyond a few bent pages. Who on earth could have done this?

He made his way upstairs, peering cautiously around doors before entering the rooms. A thought suddenly struck him. Whoever had done this might still be in the house.

A noise from behind startled him and he whipped around. A sigh of relief passed his lips. It was only Sam. She had found Snuffles tied up in the cupboard under the stairs and had freed him and the dog was wagging his tail happily.

“Who did this, Snuff?” Harry murmured, looking around. His entire house had been searched, from top to bottom. The only person who could have done it was Sam’s dad, Ryan, but that wouldn’t explain this tingly, magic feeling. Sam seemed to notice it, too, as she stuck close beside him, her hand resting on Snuffles’ head.

“Harry?” Sam whispered. “What do you think happened?”

“Don’t know. But, ah!” He stepped into his bedroom. What used to be his Hogwarts truck lay open in the center of the room. There were several books piled around it, as though someone had pulled them out, looking underneath them for something. The shards of glass that had once been a mirror still lay in the very bottom of the trunk, as Harry had never quite been able to bring himself to remove them. His invisibility cloak and Marauder’s map had been thrown to the side, and a long, thin box lay on top of them. The box was locked and there were ropes bound around it. The lock was hanging off at an odd angle, as though someone had tried to force the box open. 

Harry stepped over to the box and lifted it in his hands. He murmured something and the robes disappeared, as did the lock. With trembling hands he opened the box and breathed a deep sigh of relief when he saw what was inside.

“What is it?” Sam breathed. She had not moved from the doorway.

“Whoever it was came looking for my wand,” Harry smiled. “But they didn’t get it. I’d put spells on it so that none but I could ever get it out, and even then I had to really and truly want it out. I didn’t plan to ever use it again.”

Sam frowned. “But what about that new Dark Lord? Surely you’re going to help fight him, aren’t you?”

Harry shook his head sadly. “That’s what everyone expects. Haven’t you got it by now? Everyone has always expected me to solve their problems. Everyone had always expected these great things from me, but I never wanted to do them. And I’m not going to waltz in and save the wizarding world yet again just because I’m the Boy-Who-Lived.”

“But, I thought you liked to save people. You have sort of a saving people thing. You saved Ginny and then Sirius and Buckbeak, and I don’t know who you’re going to save in the fourth one, I’ve only just started it. But I got the picture that you liked to play the hero.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t!” Harry snarled. “I never wanted to be their savior. I never wanted any of it. It’s just what was expected of me. And now, I did what I had to do and I’m not doing it again. I’ll not be famous twice. Once was enough.” He laughed bitterly and began to throw his spell books back into his trunk. Sam watched him, obviously upset.

“So I guess they were all wrong about you. The Weasleys, I mean. They said you were a good person. They said you genuinely cared about them. But I guess they were wrong.” Sam spoke coldly and glared at Harry. “You were given a gift. And you can’t even appreciate it. My dad is right, you aren’t a good role model for me. I’m going home. And I won’t be back.”

With that, Sam turned and left without so much as a goodbye. Harry felt as though he’d been kicked in the stomach. Snuffles cocked his head in his master’s direction and wagged his tail hopefully, but Harry paid him no attention.

‘Whoever this new Dark Lord is,’ Harry thought savagely as he stowed his wand in his back pocket and folded up his invisibility cloak. ‘He’d better watch out.’

 

Author’s Note: There. It’s posted, just like I promised. Well, how does everyone like it so far? Please review! As I said before to many of my lovely readers, the more reviews I get determines how fast I update, so if you want to find out what’s going to happen, you know what to do.

SRFORESTS


	6. Diagon Alley

Disclaimer: I own Samantha and her family. Everything else belongs to the lovely J.K. Rowling.

 

Chapter Six: Diagon Alley

 

Harry Potter kicked his Hogwarts trunk closed and sat down on it, trying to remember exactly what his dream had been about. As far as he knew, he didn’t have any talent for divination. He’d had visions of Voldemort only because he was connected to the evil wizard by a curse scar. As far as he knew, he had no other magical connections to anybody. So why had he been able to see Percy’s meeting with Morda?

He absent-mindedly rubbed at the place where his scar had once been. Years and years of Muggle products had done the trick and now the scar was barely visible to the naked eye. But it was still there, he knew, and would never fully leave him.

The cool morning air drifted in through his open window. He wondered how the window had come to be open. He’d just gotten up to close it when he heard a bloodcurdling scream from next door. It carried through the open window. Harry whipped out his wand and dashed downstairs. Was Sam being beaten by her father? Surely not, he always took great pains to keep her silent. And nothing, nothing, could make that girl scream so, unless . . .

The front door of the Turner’s house stood wide open. Harry, his wand held aloft, cautiously approached and peered in. The lights were still out, and as the sun had not yet fully risen, it was necessary to light the tip of his wand to look about. 

The foyer was empty, but completely trashed. There were papers scattered everywhere, Elizabeth’s antique vase which normally stood on the shelving unit that framed doorway to the living room was smashed. Harry held his wand above his head and shone the thin beam of light around. 

Something told him to go up the stairs instead of searching the kitchen and living room. He crept, cat like, up the carpeted stairs and shone his wand around. The Turner’s bedroom light was on. Harry pushed the door all the way open before entering . . .

There, on the bed, their faces twisted into expressions of fear and shock, were Ryan and Elizabeth Turner. Sam stood trembling at the foot of the bed. She was pale and had been sick. Harry came forward cautiously and placed his fingers on Mr. Turner’s throat. The skin was cold and hard, as though he’d been dead for quite some time. Swallowing hard, Harry went to Samantha and tried his best to comfort her.

“Who did this?” She asked shakily.

“I don’t know,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her. “But I’m going to find out.”

“You –”

“You’re right, Sam. I’ve got to help them out. I’m going to help them fight the new Dark Lord.”

Sam hugged Harry back and let her tears fall. She cried and he held her, not exactly sure what to do. He tried to sooth her by whispering that it would be okay, but she only cried harder. Her parents were dead. They were the only family she had. And they were dead.

It was quite a shock to Harry, as well. He’d lived next to these people for nearly fifteen years, and now they were dead. 

After what seemed like hours, Sam’s tears dried themselves up. She looked up at Harry, her face set, her eyes ablaze. 

“Well, if you’re going to fight, might as well bring me along with you,” she said. There was no question in her voice. Harry nodded. She’d be safer with the Weasleys than anywhere.

“Pack your stuff, then. You can bring anything you like along. The Weasleys will love to have you.”

Sam gave Harry’s hand a firm squeeze and quickly left the room. He knew how this would look to the Muggle authorities. The two parents dead and the teenage girl missing. Well, he’d just tell Ron about the murders and then the Ministry could cover it up. They’d just have to get to the Burrow soon.

 

“But they’re Muggles!” Ron yelled loudly, his face nearly the same shade of red as his hair. “Why on earth would a wizard want to kill them?”

“I don’t know!” Harry shouted back, his anger mounting. “But I’m telling you, it was the Avada!”

Ron shook his head and turned away from his friend. “I think you must be mistaken . . .”

“You think I’m mistaken, Ron? How many times have I seen the effects of that curse? After all that and you think I’m too thick to recognize –”

“All right, that’s enough!” Molly Weasley strode into the kitchen were the two boys were arguing. “Honestly, Ron, Hermione needs her rest. How is she supposed to sleep with you two having a go at each other?”

“But Mum, you don’t understand . . .” Ron began.

“That’s enough out of you. Why don’t you go clean out Fred and George’s old room so Samantha will have a place to stay.” And with that Molly took a seat at the table.

Ron scowled but went upstairs anyway, leaving Harry and Mrs. Weasley alone in the kitchen.

“Now, Harry, dear, what is all this about?”

Harry took a deep breath and explained about Sam’s parents. It had to have been a wizard who killed them. It was the Avada Kedavra curse – the killing curse. Harry was all too familiar with that one, having survived it twice, once as a baby and then again as an eighteen-year-old Auror in his last battle with Voldemort.

Molly Weasley was silent for a moment, then she turned and looked directly at Harry, staring into his emerald green eyes as though looking straight into his soul. Finally, she sighed and shook her head sadly.

“The Ministry is going to try to blame this on you. You are the only wizard living within five kilometers of the Turner’s house, and you were in possession of your wand when you found the bodies.”

“So, you’re saying they’re going to try and put me in jail for murder?” 

“That’s right,” Mrs. Weasley nodded sadly. “You remember what Rufus Scrimgeour was like. He cannot let criminals run loose. And if word gets around that two Muggles were killed, people will start to talk if the murderer isn’t caught. People are still scared about anther Dark Lord . . .”

“I thought there already was one?”

Mrs. Weasley blushed. “Oh, well, Morda is hardly a Dark Lord. He’s only killed about four people, I think, and Percy is investigating the Departments personally . . . Morda won’t be around much longer.” She smiled proudly at the thought of her son finding Morda himself and getting rid of him.

Harry smiled nervously at Mrs. Weasley. Should he tell her about the dream he’d had? Would she laugh at him and tell him it was just nerves or would she fall, sobbing, to the ground, knowing that her son was mixed up in this terrible business?

“Mrs. Weasley?” Sam popped her head into the room. She clutched a book under her arm and her thin pointer finger was stuck in it, as though she were saving her spot.

“What is it, dear?”

“Is it okay if I go into Diagon Alley with Fred and George? I won’t be long,” Sam turned to Harry and gazed up at him with her big brown eyes. He grinned back.

“Well,” Mrs. Weasley hesitated. She clearly thought that Sam should stay right where she was. After all, Sam’s parents had just been found murdered! Certainly she shouldn’t be walking around Diagon Alley with her two obnoxious sons . . . “If it’s okay with Harry.” She sighed and turned to the raven haired man.

Harry flashed Sam a warm smile and nodded. “Ron’s got my Gringott’s key. If there’s anything left in the vault, you’re welcome to it.”

Sam laid her book down on the table and Harry glanced down at the cover. ‘Order of the Phoenix already?’ he thought. ‘That girl reads entirely too fast.’ She was taking a break from reading and he thought he knew why. Cedric Diggory had died at the end of Goblet of Fire, and it probably reminded Sam of her parents. Besides that, her eyes must have been so tired that they were nearly falling out of her eye sockets.

“Harry, why don’t you go up to bed, dear,” Mrs. Weasley got up from the kitchen table. “You’ve had a rather exciting night.”

Ignoring his protests of, “Mrs. Weasley, I’m fine, really,” Molly took his arm and all but dragged him upstairs. Fred and George came into the kitchen holing up a tiny gold key and grinned at Sam.

“Ready?” George asked, taking a flower pot from the mantle.

“Yep.” Sam grinned back at them both. George offered her the flower pot and she took a pinch of what she knew to be Floo Powder. She tossed the powder into the flames and as they turned green, she took a deep breath and said, “Diagon Alley!”

Sam was amazed. The descriptions the books gave did not do Diagon Alley justice. Never in her life had she seen so many varieties of people. Wizards came in every shape and size. And while normal people did, to some extent, have different shapes, wizards seemed entirely different.

Fred and George walked behind her, smirking as she dashed from one window to the next, looking at everything. She felt like a little girl again, walking with her mother at the toy store and gawking at the sheer amount of stuff available for purchase. When they finally reached Fred and George’s shop, she recognized it immediately. She hadn’t gotten to that book yet, the sixth, which gave a full description of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, but she knew as soon as she saw the sign for Colombian Itching Powder and Skiving Snackboxes in the window of the shop, she knew without a doubt that it belonged to the Weasley twins.

They took her to Gringott’s and got money from Harry’s old vault for her. There was a surprising amount left, although as Fred explained, Ron had begun paying Harry back all of the money he’d borrowed several years ago. Sam took only a small amount back to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and began to stock up on everything.

Everything was half-price, and Sam was delighted. Shopping took her mind off of the horrible sight in her parent’s bedroom, and besides, shopping in Diagon Alley had always been a dream of hers. What would happen at school when she dropped invisible mice into people’s jeans or canary creams into their food? She grinned wickedly at the thought. No one would know what to do with her. And no one would be able to prove anything. The evidence would vanish.

Finally, with nearly six bags full of joke stuff, Sam and the twins stepped back into the crowded street. She still had money left and wanted to go to Flourish and Blott’s. 

“I heard there are books about basic magic for Squibs and stuff,” she shrugged her shoulders. “And I’d like to get one on basic potions. Maybe this time around I won’t flunk Chemistry.”

With yet another bulging bag, Sam and the twins finally took a break from shopping and sat down in the shade to enjoy ice cream. Fred and George smiled and waved at several passing wizards and witches and even allowed their picture to be taken, twice. Apparently, Fred and George’s fame had spread all throughout the country. They had bought out Zonko’s completely and were looking into expanding into the international market.

Fred looked across the street and poked George in the shoulder. “Looks like Ollivander’s son has finally taken over the business.”

Sam followed Fred’s gaze and she saw Ollivander’s wand shop. But instead of the wizened old man who had run it when Harry was a student at Hogwarts, Sam saw an incredibly handsome young man dusting and polishing the single wand that lay on the purple cushion in the window. The man looked up and ran his fingers through his honey-coloured hair and smiled at the three of them.

“You want to pop over there and saw hi, then?” George frowned. “Because I’d rather . . .”

“Oh, let’s,” Sam breathed, still staring at the man in the window.

Fred grinned. “Oh, fine then, George. Sit here and watch Sam’s stuff. I’ll take her over.”

Sam barely blinked as Fred led her across the street to Ollivander’s. The man in the window beamed as they approached and threw the door wide open.

“Hello, there. What can I do for you today?” he asked pleasantly. Sam couldn’t speak. He was so incredibly gorgeous, with short golden hair and dazzling blue eyes. Every time he smiled he revealed his perfectly straight, white teeth. It reminded her suddenly of Gilderoy Lockhart, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in Harry’s second year. But this man was more handsome even than Lockhart, if that was possible.

“Fred Weasley,” Fred stuck out his hand. “This is Sam. She’s, well, she’s a Squib, and I’ve brought her into town so she could see everything. And I’ve told her about your father and she seemed anxious to meet you.”

Sam continued to stare at the young man. He grinned at her and offered her his hand. She took it and gave it a small squeeze, unaware of what she was doing or how silly she looked. The man laughed.

“Brian Ollivander, nice to meet you.” Brian turned back to Fred. “Can I interest you in a wand, Mr. Weasley?”

“Nope, we’ve got to be off. Sam just really wanted to meet you. Good bye.”

“Goodbye, then, Sam.”

“Was he gorgeous or what?” Sam breathed as the twins led her into the Leaky Cauldron.

The twins chuckled and Sam blushed. She had definitely not meant to say that out loud. They handed her a tin of Floo Powder and she took a pinch, grinning as she thought about his beautiful smile. 

“The Burrow!” She called out, and closed her eyes as she felt the strange, warm tickling on her legs as she sped through the chimney and back into the kitchen of the Burrow.

 

Author’s Note: I’ve posted this early because I’m going out of town for the rest of the week, and I won’t be able to post, so if anybody cares I’m being nice here and not making you wait until next Monday for the post. I’d like to come back from Savannah and find a ton of reviews (hint, hint)!


	7. Percy Ignatius Weasley

Disclaimer: I own Samantha and her family. Everyone else belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling.

 

Chapter Seven: Percy Ignatius Weasley

 

“Well, this is it, then,” Mr. Weasley pulled a slip of paper out of his robe pocket and glanced at the address. “But why Perce wanted to meet us here, I have no idea . . .”

Harry Potter pulled open the door of the shabby pub and stepped inside, followed closely by Arthur Weasley. He took one look around and saw Percy, Arthur Weasley’s son, seated at a table in the corner. Together, he and Arthur approached.

To say Percy was surprised to see Harry was an understatement. He jumped up nervously and beckoned for them both to sit.

“Percy! We’ve missed you, son,” Arthur said quietly as the young redheaded man sat back down and began wiping his horn rimmed glasses with the hem of his robes. “Your mother’s been nearly off her rocker ever since you sent back your birthday present. What’s been going on?”

“N-nothing much,” Percy did not meet his father’s eyes, but Arthur wasn’t paying any attention. “Been investigating the departments for leakages, that sort of thing. Scrimgeour suspects someone within the Ministry is giving information to the Dark Lord.”

“You’re the perfect man for the job, then!” Mr. Weasley said brightly. “Isn’t he, Harry? Percy was never one for letting criminals run loose. Keep up your good work, boy and Scrimgeour might just give you another promotion. Maybe you’ll get your own department, eh?”

Percy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. A young, blonde witch drifted over to the table. Her hair was long and wavy and cascaded down her back. She had large eyes wore a necklace made of Butterbeer caps around her neck.

“What can I get you three gentlemen?” she asked in a dreamy voice.

“Luna?” Harry turned his green eyes toward her. 

“Oh, Harry! And Mr. Weasley! And I don’t know you,” she turned to Percy, “But I expect you’re a Weasley, as well.”

“You know this girl?” Percy snorted. 

“Yeah, she fought in the Final Battle. How are things, Luna?” Harry dragged up a chair for her.

“Oh, fine, fine,” Luna sat down slowly, not taking her large eyes from Harry. “Things have certainly improved since Brain Ollivander showed up in Diagon Alley. He and I are talking about getting married. Are you married, Harry?”

Harry shook his head sadly.

“Oh, I guess Malfoy’s death must have come as a real shock to you. I suppose you haven’t let yourself love anyone since?”

Harry blushed. Luna had certainly not lost her liking for the blunt and embarrassing truth. Percy cleared his throat angrily.

“Look, Potter, I don’t know exactly what you’re trying to pull, but I asked my father to come here tonight so I could talk to him. Of course, if you’d rather talk to everyone else in the pub, be my guest. Just don’t invite them all to our table.”

“Now, Percy, don’t talk to him like that,” Mr. Weasley scolded gently. He turned politely to Luna. “We’ll take a couple of Butterbeers over here, if you please.”

“Potter, would you mind if my father and I had a private talk?” Percy scowled.

“Fine, whatever.” Harry stood up angrily. “Look, if you wanted him to come alone, you should have specified . . .”

“I did!” Percy shouted. “I wanted to talk to my father alone, so if you would just excuse me!” He leapt from his chair and took his father by the arm, dragging him out the back door of the pub. Harry watched for a moment, then gave Luna a very significant look.

“I keep a cloak under the counter, if you want to borrow it,” Luna whispered. Harry nodded and Luna fetched it for him. He then crept out the back door into the alleyway.

Percy had his father pinned against the brick wall of the pub, and his wand was out. Mr. Weasley was confused and afraid. He’d never thought he’d be threatened by his own son.

“Why did you bring Potter here?” Percy whispered angrily. “Why?”

“He wanted to come!” Mr. Weasley’s voice shook with fear. “He asked if he could come and I said you’d be happy to see him . . .”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t. He’s trying to pry into my business and I just don’t like it. I want to know everything you’ve told him concerning the Dark Lord.”

“But I – I didn’t . . .”

“Everything!” Percy’s voice was a low hiss which reminded Harry forcefully of Voldemort.

“I told him the Dark Lord’s name was Morda and that he’d had connections within the Ministry . . .”

“Is that all?” Percy pushed the tip of his wand into his father’s neck.

“Y-yes, I th-think so . . .”Mr Weasley stammered.

“Very well.” Percy pulled his wand away and took a step back, allowing his father to sink weak-kneed to the pavement. He kicked his father sharply in the stomach and when Arthur doubled up, clutching the pain in his belly, Percy kicked him sideway onto the pavement and raised his wand.

“Avada -”

“No!” Harry threw off the invisibility cloak Luna had given him and aimed a disarming spell at Percy. Before Percy could even begin to realize what had happened, Harry dashed up and retrieved Percy’s wand from the ground.

“I didn’t want to believe it of you, Percy!” Harry shouted, pointing his wand directly at Percy’s heart. “How could you? Your own father . . .”

“He would have deserved it,” Percy spat, eying Harry’s wand. “He’s a blood traitor . . .”

“Surely, surely, all of this blood traitor stuff doesn’t still exist? I thought I had eradicated it when I killed Voldemort . . .”

“You may have killed Voldemort,” Percy said slowly, “but his dream still lives on. It will never be gone, so long as there are people like Morda to uphold it . . .”

“Shut up!” Harry yelled, forcing the tip of his wand into Percy’s chest. “This Morda, or whatever his name is, is just a copycat. Don’t you understand, Percy? Whoever the new Dark Lord is, he is a fake, trying to pretend to be what he isn’t. Does he have you under the Imperius curse? Is he controlling you? Percy, your brothers and sister died fighting against the ideals of the Dark Lord, and now you’re telling me you supported them all along?”

Percy smirked. “The Dark Lord is much more powerful than you realize, Potter. He will take this land, and succeed where Lord Voldemort failed. He has been biding his time since the Final Battle, but knew that when the time came, he would be ready. His faithful servants in the Ministry would pass him valuable information. They keep up a cleverly constructed mask, but they serve only their true master. Even Dumbledore never suspected.”

“How long have you been working for him?”

Percy smirked again. “Well, that doesn’t really matter now, does it? Are you going to kill me, Potter?” he asked softly, grinning evilly. “Are you going to murder another person? Tell me, how did it feel to kill those Muggles? After the way they talked to you and the girl, I’m surprised you hadn’t killed them already.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry demanded savagely, jamming his wand harder into Percy’s chest.

“Those Muggles you lived next door to. The Ministry had found traces of magic from your wand on the premises, and besides, you lived just next door and both you and the girl have gone missing. Tell me, Potter, did you kidnap the girl? Plan on raising her as your own, do you? Getting the family you always wanted?”

“Shut up!” Harry flung Percy back and pushed him to the ground, pinning his there with his left foot. “Shut up, I’m warning you. The Ministry will be here any minute. And they’ll catch you and send you off to Azkaban where you belong.”

“Wrong,” Percy said softly. “The Ministry is already here, and they are waiting to arrest you.”

Harry spun around, removing his foot from Percy’s chest. Rufus Scrimgeour and two other Ministry employees stood in the dark alleyway, staring at Harry as though afraid of him. 

“Er, Mr. Potter?” Scrimgeour stepped forward, raising his wand defensively. “You – you’d better come along. If you come quietly, we won’t have to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” Harry nearly laughed. As if old Scrimgeour and his Ministry could hurt him.

“Percy, good job,” the Minister of Magic stepped forward and helped up the redheaded, bespectacled man. “We never would have caught him if it wasn’t for you.”

“What about him?” one of the Ministry workers pointed to the crumpled form of Arthur Weasley lying on the black pavement.

“Take him home, Dillon. And be sure to tell his wife who it was that attacked him. Mr. Potter, if you’d hand over your wand, please.”

Dillon pointed his wand at Mr, Weasley and murmured something that Harry couldn’t hear. Then he conjured a stretcher and banished it with the injured man on it. Harry clutched his wand tighter. What exactly was going on here?

“You’ll probably have to take it from him,” Percy said with a sneer. “I’m afraid fifteen years with Muggles has rather addled his brain.

Harry wasn’t exactly sure what happened next, only tat he found himself bound tightly by magical ropes and that his wand was in the hand of the minister. Scrimgeour cast a spell that would allow him to see the last six spell the wand had performed. But he only needed three to prove his case. One Lumos, two Avadas. Harry was going to Azkaban.

“Take him away, then. Potter, I’m ashamed of you! And here we thought you were Dumbledore’s man through and through and you’ve gone and killed a couple of Muggles.” Scrimgeour shook his grey head and sighed. “And to think, if only you’d joined the Ministry instead of running away and deserting us all . . . Pity. I’ll see you at your hearing, Mr. Potter.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest but found himself being dragged into a standing position. The two Aurors who had accompanied Scrimgeour took hold of Harry’s arms and Disapparated. The next thing Harry knew, he was staring at a huge stone building perched haphazardly on a tiny rock in the middle of the sea. The fortress of Azkaban. Harry shivered. He’d never been in here, and had hoped he never would be in here. But everything was happening too fast, and he was powerless to stop it.

 

To Be Continued . . .

Author’s Note: Okay, how does everyone like it so far? Let’s just pretend then, that you said you did like it, and I’ll say thank you. Then we can pretend that you reviewed and said something nice, and I can say thank you for that, as well. Okay, we can stop pretending now. I wanted so much to be able to post on Monday, but it seems that I don't have enough true fans. If you don;t like my story anymore, please, at least say so. I feel like I am the only one in the whole world who is actually interested in finding out what is going to happen next.


	8. A Prisoner In Azkaban

Disclaimer: I own Samantha and her family. Everyone else belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling.

 

Chapter Eight: A Prisoner in Azkaban

“I can’t believe he’d do something like this!” Molly Weasley sobbed, clutching a piece of parchment to her chest. “Oh, Arthur! It’s so lucky Percy met you there. You might have been killed!”

Arthur Weasley sat up in bed and winced as pain shot through his stomach. Fred and George sat beside their mother, trying to calm her down, and Ron sat on the other side of the bed, holding his youngest son in his lap and staring off into space.

“Look, Molly, Harry’s been through a lot. Maybe he just, I don’t know, couldn’t hold in his emotions anymore. The fact of the matter is that Harry has killed two Muggles and most likely would have killed me, as well, but Percy rescued me.”

“I still don’t believe it!” Molly wailed, looking down at the parchment once again. “He’s like a son! My own dear, sweet boy!”

Fred and George scowled darkly at each other. “Harry couldn’t have killed those Muggles. He was here when they died.”

“The Ministry says that he killed them upon returning home and finding his house had been ransacked. Said he just blew up and had had enough of prying neighbours,” Mr. Weasley sighed, wincing again.

“But he didn’t, Mr. Weasley!” Sam said earnestly from the doorway. “He couldn’t have. I went home with him and I found my parents dead before he even came over to my house.”

“The Ministry won’t even consider your testimony, I’m afraid,” Ron said quietly, coming out of his trance. “Scrimgeour’s been champing at he bit to get Harry for something ever since our sixth year when he refused to side with the Ministry. But then, they have yet to release Stan Shunpike, and Harry didn’t believe that arresting innocent men on alleged charges of associating with Death Eaters was right.”

“Stan Shunpike was arrested?” Sam asked, her brown eyes wide. She had not started reading the sixth book yet.

“Yeah, in our sixth year. Gee, he must be nearing forty now and he’s been in jail since he was twenty-one . . . I’m sure I would have escaped by now.”

Molly Weasley looked shocked at this information and her sobbing increased ten-fold. Fred and George just shook their heads sadly.

“Stan was never what you’d call, ‘intelligent’,” Mr. Weasley said with a sigh. “I doubt he’d know enough to try and escape. And besides, he’s too terrified that the Minister would track him down and kill him. He’s been relatively safe in prison, and so has Ludo Bagman. I don’t think he’s willing to bring Scrimgeour’s wrath down upon him.”

“So, what’s going to happen now?” Sam asked breathlessly, stepping fully into the room and tucking her hair behind her ears.

“Scrimgeour wants to send you away somewhere. He wants to modify your memory and send you to live with your grandmother,” Ron gave his little son a hug and stood up. “I told them that the safest place for you is here, at the moment, but I doubt he believes it. He still can’t believe Harry would tell a Muggle about all of us.”

“I – well, I sort of figured it out by myself,” Sam blushed. “I – I stole his photo album and found all of these letters in the back . . . And by then I knew what was going on. I’d read the first book, I knew a few things.”

Mrs. Weasley continued to sob, but she got up from her chair at her husband’s bedside and grabbed Sam in a tight, motherly hug. Sam smiled and embraced the elderly witch and they stood there for a moment. Finally they broke apart and Mrs. Weasley left the room, murmuring something about “being silly” and “needing to get dinner started”. Sam took her place at Arthur’s bedside.

“Is there any way we can help Harry out of this mess?” Sam asked Ron in a whisper.

“Yeah, we can find the bloke who really killed your parents,” Ron answered bitterly. “But how we’re going to do that when they’ve discovered that Harry’s wand was the one that performed the murder . . .”

Sam was silent for a moment, thinking. Then she slowly began to tell Ron exactly what had happened when they arrived back at Harry’s house.

“The house had been ransacked,” she murmured. “And when we got upstairs Harry found his trunk open and all of his stuff was scattered about. But there was a thin box with ropes and a lock on it and he opened it and his wand was inside. He said that nobody but himself could open the box. But what if someone did open the box? What if . . . what if this new Dark Lord came and used Dark Magic or something . . . and killed my parents with Harry’s wand so it would look as though Harry had done it . . .”

“I think you read too many mystery novels,” Arthur said with a sad smile.

“There has to be a way to help him,” she said to herself. She sat perfectly still, seemingly staring off into space. But a second later, she leapt from her chair and dashed downstairs.

“That girl is a regular Hermione,” Fred muttered to George and they both grinned.

 

Harry sat alone in his cell in Azkaban. He’d already been here three days and he was nearly going mad. Percy . . . Percy was working for the new Dark Lord, Harry was sure. And if he hadn’t gone with Mr. Weasley that night, Arthur would be dead. But his wand, when it had regurgitated its spells, there had been two Avadas. Two killing curses. But he had only ever used that curse once, and it was on Voldemort. How on earth had his wand killed those two Muggles?

Harry’s was a high profile case. Rita Skeeter was constantly in and out of Azkaban, hoping to get a story from him, but he hadn’t spoken since he was arrested. Not that anyone cared. They had their evidence. There was no way he could get out of this one. Perhaps if Dumbledore were still alive, or Sirius, or even Draco, then he would have a chance. But he’d excluded himself from the wizarding world for far too long and everyone assumed he had gone mental.

He wondered quite often what was happening to Sam. Were they interrogating her? Or had they modified her memory and sent her home? Harry was sure that man Dillon had modified Arthur’s memory, that was what he’d whispered just before he sent the man home. Was the Ministry trying to cover something up, or was just Dillon in on it?

He was brought from his musings on the fourth day by a guard who rattled the bars of his cell trying to get his attention.

“You’ve got a visitor,” the guard said roughly, pushing someone forward into Harry’s cell. “And you’ve got a twenty minute visit according to the law book, so hurry up and visit.”

The visitor stepped forward and whispered, “Harry?”

“Samantha!” Harry breathed a sigh of relief. So they hadn’t modified her memory yet. Her testimony might well be the only thing to get him out of Azkaban.

“Oh, oh, Harry!” Sam flung herself forward and clung to him, crying. “They’ve been asking me all sorts of questions, but they don’t believe a word of what I tell them and they keep saying that because I’m a Muggle I don’t understand the situation . . .”

“It’s okay, Sam,” Harry said in what he thought was a reassuring voice. “I mean, they’ll have to believe you. You’re the prime witness . . .”

“Listen,” Sam said hastily, pulling away and pulling out a notebook. “I want to know exactly what happened when you met Percy. I’ve got Rita ready to write an article for the Quibbler if need be, sort of like what you did in fifth year. So, what happened?”

Harry gave a hasty explanation of everything that happened, keeping an eye on the guard who stood just outside of his cell, his wand raised, ready to attack if Harry showed the slightest inclination toward violence.

“And that’s it? That’s the truth?” Sam asked as she jotted down Harry’s last words and looked up, her brown eyes ablaze once again.

“Yes, I swear. It’s the truth.” Harry stood up and began to pace his cell. “But I still can’t figure out who Morda is.” He felt that if he could find out Morda’s true identity, then everything would fall into place.

“I have a hunch, but no more than that,” Sam said with a sigh. “I’ve been doing as much research as possible. Fleur took me to Hogwarts yesterday so I could browse the library and try to find anything interesting. I looked up the book this Morda supposedly came from and read about him, but he doesn’t seem at all frightening. And the only thing I’ve found of interest was that the book was a favourite of Cornelius Fudge’s when he was at school and he checked it out at least once a month, but beyond that, I’ve found nothing. And Ron’s trying to help me from within the Ministry, but he can’t risk getting caught, and so . . .” 

Harry held up a hand to stop Sam’s babbling. “Sam, do me a favour. I need you to find out how many Death Eaters are still alive and free. Ron shouldn’t have trouble getting into those files. But tell him to watch his back and to avoid Percy. Don’t say anything to Molly or Arthur, though, because they won’t believe it, and you might get into trouble. Keep your eyes and ears open. They are letting you stay with the Weasleys, right?”

Sam nodded. “They want to keep me around for questioning.”

“Well, good. At least I’ll know you’re safe. Okay, take care of yourself, Sam. You’re the only one who knows the truth.”

Sam hugged him again before the guard stepped in and pulled her out into the corridor. She sadly waved goodbye to him as she was dragged away and he prayed that she would find some way to help him. At least there was one person on the outside that knew the truth.

 

“There are twenty-nine people currently locked up in Azkaban, My Lord, and Potter is among them,” Percy Weasley knelt before the high-backed chair again, his horn rimmed glasses flashing in the light from the fireplace.

“Good, good. Pity Arthur Weasley escaped, though.”

“Dillon Greene had modified his memory, My Lord, to coordinate with the Ministry’s story. Even though he isn’t dead, he no more suspects me than his own wife. But he does think Potter was the one who killed the Muggles. Our plan is working.”

“Excellent, Percy. You know what you must do. I think Azkaban will soon have thirty prisoners, if all goes well. Ollivander won’t know what hit him.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Percy smirked and rose, his eyes still fixed on Morda.

“Oh, and Percy, I think the girl must be disposed of. Muggle or not, she knows too much for her own good.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Percy gave a low bow, then turned and walked quickly out of the room, leaving Morda seated in his armchair by the fireplace.

As the door to the room closed with a bang, Harry sat bolt upright from his little cot and looked around. Percy was definitely with the Dark Lord, and Samantha Turner was in grave danger.

To Be Continued . . .

Author’s Note: Sorry I didn’t update Friday, like I promised. I’ve had a bad case of the flu. Anyway, here’s chapter eight. Thanks to all of those who are reading. I’d still like to know what you think, if it’s not too much trouble. I’m trying to put more action into it, but it doesn’t seem to be turning into that type of story. Oh well, at the end, maybe, I’ll get some real action. Maybe a long duel between Morda and Potter. Maybe . . . .


	9. Complications

Disclaimer: I own Samantha and her family. Everyone else belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling.

I thank all of my readers for not complaining when I didn’t post chapter eight until Monday. And so, as a reward I’m posting this chapter today. Look for chapter ten on its usual day. And if you think this chapter is boring, you obviously didn’t read it when I first posted this story. I think it has greatly, greatly improved. And now, on with the story.

 

Chapter Nine: Complications

 

Samantha Turner sat in her bedroom at he Burrow, staring up at the ceiling. A book lay open on the bed beside her and a stack of parchment lay just to the right of the book. Suddenly, Sam sat bolt upright, staring at the window. A large tawny owl had perched himself just outside and was continually tapping his beak on the windowpane. She hastily slid off the bed and opened the window.

The owl was carrying a large envelope filled with more parchment for Sam to browse through. She’d done what Harry had asked her too and gone through the lists of all the Death Eaters that were currently free, but only six of the original circle of Voldemort had managed to escape. Lucius Malfoy, his wife Narcissa, Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband, Severus Snape, and someone called Emiliana Maclanahan. Of the six, Snape was in St. Mungo’s with no memories, Narcissa Malfoy was working in Hogsmeade to repay her debts to society, and Emiliana Maclanahan was serving time in a Muggle prison for theft.

Sam had wondered several times why Harry had asked her to do this. Morda wouldn’t be using the leftover followers of Voldemort, would he? But then again, from all she’d heard of him, it seemed possible that he was merely taking advantage of what Voldemort had left behind. In fact, the more she learned about the new “Dark Lord” the more she wanted to laugh. The man had absolutely no creativity. He seemed nearly as harmless as an old fly. Only four people had died, and rumor had it that it wasn’t even Morda that had caused the deaths, but his second, a ruthless and angry young man that was determined to overtake his lord and get all the power for himself.

From what Harry had told Sam, she was sure that Percy was the second-in-command. He worked at the Ministry. He was covering things up. He might have had the entire Ministry working for him. Sam might have expected Rufus Scrimgeour of being Morda except for the fact that Harry was sure Morda was bald. But how he knew that, Sam had no idea.

She hated not knowing things. The information was there, it just had to be. She pulled the parchment from the envelope and began rifling through it. She wanted to find out exactly how Snape had ended up in St. Mungo’s, but there weren’t any real accounts. Probably the only one who knew was Snape himself, and he was in no condition to talk.

There was a soft knock on her bedroom door. Sam looked up from the parchment just as the door opened a crack and a head popped in. It was Ron.

“Hey, Sam, you want to come down and have dinner?”

Sam wasn’t really sure. One part of her was aware of her rumbling stomach, the other wanted to ignore everything completely until the mystery was solved. She shrugged her shoulders.

“I can bring you up a tray, if you’d rather,” Ron said softly.

“I think I’d like that,” Sam responded, sitting down again on the bed and shuffling the parchment. Something at the top of one of the pages caught her eye and she said no more. Ron quietly closed her door and went downstairs. Really, teenagers were exhausting. How he was going to deal with his kids when they got to be that age, he didn’t know.

Memory Charms, Sam read, can often be used to create the effect of insanity due to prolonged Cruciatus curse. This method is often used by victims of violent crimes so that the perpetrator gets far more punishment than is necessary. Memory Charms, unlike the after effects of Cruciatus, can be reversed if a very powerful or highly skilled wizard performs the counter curse.

Sam’s head snapped up. Perhaps Snape was under a memory charm. No one could recall Snape being tortured by anyone for a long period of time, and it took hours of prolonged exposure to Cruciatus to go insane. But a quick little memory charm could have been put in place. But why? And by whom?

Sam grabbed an old quill from the floor and tore a scrap of parchment out of the notebook she had shoved under the bed.

Dear Harry, she scribbled, I’ve found out some interesting stuff. Won’t say much more, I think the Ministry is covering stuff up and it wouldn’t do for them to find out what I know. I’ve got to talk to someone that I think can help me. I’ll come and tell you all this stuff in person in a few days. Hope you are okay. Sam.

She rolled up the parchment and went downstairs looking for Ron. She wanted to borrow his owl. Instead she ran smack into a tall, attractive man with mousy brown hair. She tumbled backwards and landed with a thump on the stairs. The man reached down and pulled her to her feet, apologizing profusely. It took nearly a full minute for Sam to realize who this was.

“Er, Mr. Longbottom?” Sam asked tentatively.

Neville Longbottom gave her a startled look. “Yeah. And you’re Sam Turner.”

Sam could not believe her good fortune. She knew Neville worked at St. Mungo’s and was hoping he could get into Snape’s file.

“You’re trying to help get Harry out of Azkaban, right?” Neville asked softly.

“Yeah, and I need your help.”

Two hours later, Sam was once again seated on her bed, but now her stack of parchment had multiplied. Neville had been able to obtain Snape’s file from St. Mungo’s and Sam was now busy perusing it and scribbling down notes on a scrap of blank parchment.

“No physical damage. Nerve endings still in tact. Unexplained weight loss immediately following arrival. No recollection of incident where memory was lost but shadows of memory from past events. Snape attempts to be cold and heartless but his lack of memory inhibits this. Does not get along well with Gilderoy Lockhart, another patient in the ward.” Sam wrote. It was looking more and more like a Memory Charm.

She turned the paper over to find a written statement from Snape. His handwriting was tiny and childish, but easy to read.

Help! Help! Help, please! She’s coming for me. They want to know where he is! Help! Help!

Sam stared at the message for a moment and then folded the parchment carefully. This certainly merited a visit to St. Mungo’s, if Neville could pull it off. When had this been written? Another piece of parchment directly under Snape’s statement was from a healer at the hospital and said that Snape was most likely creating false ‘memories’ during his dreams. He believed someone was out to get him, which, the healer wrote, was probably carryover from his days as a spy. He did not believe that Snape’s fears were justified.

Too many things were going on here, Sam thought. There was so much caught up in this that she really had no idea where to look next. The only thing she was sure of was that Percy Weasley was working for Morda. She had yet to find out who Morda was, and had yet to find out why her parents had been killed. And she had yet to find a way to get Harry out of Azkaban . . .

A shout from downstairs startled her. She heard a few doors slam and then some more shouting. Curious, she crept off the bed and cracked her door open an inch, listening.

“Unbelievable!” Arthur Weasley yelled. “It’s impossible!”

“It isn’t impossible!” a man’s voice said rather angrily. “If you’d just listen . . .”

“Really, that can’t be true!” Mrs. Weasley sobbed. “My own boy!”

“Will you just listen for a moment? There. Now, if you will keep your mouths closed, maybe I’ll get around to explaining everything. Percy was seen consorting with Bellatrix Lestrange last night at a pub. And only hours later, Bellatrix showed up at St. Mungo’s. Now Severus Snape has gone missing. And Scrimgeour thinks Percy may have had something to do with Snape’s disappearance . . .”

“No!” Mrs. Weasley wailed. “No, it’s not true! Arthur, tell him it’s not true!”

Arthur hesitated for a moment, and then cleared his throat and said in a would-be calm voice, “Now, Mr. Ollivander, I want to know where you get your information.”

Brian Ollivander sighed angrily as Sam crept down the stairs to the kitchen. As soon as she’d heard Ollivander’s name, she was suddenly gripped with an overwhelming desire to see him and so had begun her journey to the kitchen. She paused at the door, wishing she had an invisibility cloak. He was seated at the kitchen table, his back toward the door where Sam was standing. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley both sat opposite him, Molly’s face tear stained and Arthur’s face decidedly pale.

“Look, Colin Creevey was at my friend’s pub last night shooting some amateur photos for a competition and your son and Bella are right there, in the background . . .” Brian pulled a photo out of his pocket and slid it across the table. Arthur looked at it and paled even further and Molly could barely see it through her tears.

“Oh, P-P-Percy!” Mrs. Weasley turned and sobbed onto her husband’s shoulder. “Why?”

“So,” Arthur began slowly, “You think he has ties with Morda?”

“It’s possible, yes,” Brian sighed. “I only wish I knew. The only one who knows the truth is Potter and he’s locked up in Azkaban for murder. Doesn’t look like he’ll ever get out.”

“You might want to talk with Sam,” Arthur hugged his wife as she continued to cry on his shoulder. “She’s been trying to find a way to get him released. Maybe she has found something.”

Brian slid his chair back and slowly got to his feet. He had to be six feet tall, maybe more, and the faded blue jeans he was wearing clung to his lean frame. Sam’s mouth began to water. He was so gorgeous. It had to have been a spell. No man could be that handsome naturally. Maybe he was elfin? She’d read somewhere that elves were supposedly the fairest creatures on the planet. Even if he didn’t have elf blood, he could certainly give them a run for their money.

Sam suddenly realized that he was heading in her direction, his beautiful blue eyes blazing. She straightened up and held out her piece of parchment. She hoped Brian would think she’d just come down the stairs.

“Oh, hi, Sam,” Brian said warmly as he stepped through the door. “It seems we have the same mission.”

“What is that?” Sam asked breathlessly, her eyes not leaving Brian’s gorgeous face.

Brian laughed good-naturedly. “To get Potter out of prison.”

“Oh,” Sam whispered.

“I’m told you might know something,” Brian continued, his eyes twinkling the very same way Dumbledore’s once had. “I assume that’s why you were coming downstairs?”

“Oh, yes. I – um, I mean, I found something . . .” Sam stammered. Why did he have to smile like that? All of those perfectly straight, white teeth just behind those oh-so-kissable lips. Sam sighed longingly.

“What did you find?”

Sam, who had been lost in a daydream involving Brian and an empty broom cupboard, snapped back to reality and held out the parchment with her notes.

“I know that Severus Snape did not lose his mind.”

Brian read her notes over and nodded. “I suspected as much. Neville said Snape’s symptoms were nothing like his parents’. In fact, Snape acted more and more like Gilderoy Lockhart every day. He had bits of his old personality and could remember his love of intimidating people, but beyond that . . .”

“So it definitely was a Memory Charm,” Sam interrupted. “And Memory Charms can be broken, it said so in the textbook I was reading. D’you think maybe someone was trying to cover their trail? Maybe this Morda was planning to take over after Voldemort all along and set up spies everywhere. I just wish I knew who Morda was.”

Brian smiled and laid his strong hand on Sam’s shoulder. She nearly fainted. Memories of her recent daydream returned, leaving her feeling weak in the knees. She grinned stupidly up at Brian. What he must have thought . . .

“You’re on the right track,” he said softly. “I wouldn’t have expected a sixteen-year-old Muggle to be quite so intelligent.”

Sam blushed and Brian pulled the photo out of his pocket once more. He held it out to Sam. It was supposed to be a candid picture of a bunch of guys at a pub having a good time. Their mugs were full of Firewhisky and they were laughing and joking. But in the background stood an obviously distressed Percy Weasley talking to a middle aged woman in a black cloak. The hood of her cloak slipped for just a moment to reveal heavy-lidded eyes and thick, dark hair. The woman in the photo glared at Percy and muttered something to him before turning on her heel and marching out a back door. 

“That’s one complication,” Sam muttered.

Brian nodded. “And the other is that the one person who might be able to clear things up, Severus Snape, has gone missing.”

Sam frowned. “Yes, that definitely complicates things a bit. So what are we going to do?”

“Don’t know,” Brian shrugged. The Ministry is looking everywhere for Snape, but at this point, it is unlikely that he will be found alive.”

“I think we should visit St. Mungo’s. At the very least we can re-interview the Healers and security wizards.”

“Longbottom’s already on that. There is another slight complication, you know, something I didn’t tell the Weasleys.”

“What?” Sam asked breathlessly as Brian moved closer to her to whisper in her ear.

“The Ministry is trying to make it look as though Potter and Arthur are also connected to Morda.”

Brian’s breath was warm on her ear and she barely caught what he said. But when he pulled away and she came back to her senses, she ran his words through her head again.

“No!” she gasped softly. “He has nothing to do with it!”

“I know. I know. But Harry went with Arthur to meet Percy. Then Percy met with Bellatrix. They are trying to make this look like a huge conspiracy, and it probably is.”

“But . . . then we absolutely have to prove Harry’s innocence!” Sam nearly shrieked. “He could be stuck in Azkaban for the rest of his life!”

“That’s Scrimgeour’s plan, I think. But come now. We’ve got to make sure Longbottom can arrange our visit to St. Mungo’s. And I think it is getting rather late. Perhaps someone ought to go to bed.”

Sam scowled. He was talking to her like she was a little child!

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you!” she snapped, turning on her heel. Why did he have to talk to her that way, after all the work she had done?

Brian smiled to himself as he watched Samantha storming up the stairs. If there was any way to get a kid to stop fawning over him, it was to treat her like a kid. He almost didn’t have the heart to tell all the girls that he was not available to them, that he leant the other way. But oh, why did everything have to be complicated?


	10. Found: One Potions Master

Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters, but I wonder how much it would cost to buy them from JK Rowling? Don’t sue. I’m not making any money, unfortunately. 

 

Chapter Ten: Found, One Potions Master

 

“So, he’s nowhere to be found?” Sam asked quickly, staring up into Neville’s face, which had long lost its boyish roundness to be replaced with strong, masculine features.

Neville shook his head sadly. “The Ministry has been searching for a week now, and he hasn’t turned up.”

“Do you think we’ll ever find Snape?” Sam’s voice held unmasked bitterness.

“It’s unlikely,” Brian interrupted sullenly. “Now come here and help me with this crate.”

Sam turned away from Neville and helped Brian lift an enormous crate onto the counter of Ollivander’s Wand Shop. Brian took out a hammer and began to pry off the top of the crate. He ignored Sam’s raised eyebrow and lifted off the lid as well as several layers of foam insulation.

“This should be my new shipment,” he muttered to himself. “Ah, yes. Two-hundred and seventy wands. Courtesy of my father. He never really gave up liking to make wands, you know, even after having his memory nearly ruined by Death Eaters. And besides, as he constantly reminds me, my mediocre wand-making skills would most likely frighten away business.”

“At least the shop is still in the family,” Neville said, looking around. “When your dad said he was retiring from the wand business I think everyone feared the worst.”

“No, he won’t ever let this place completely go,” Brian looked around fondly. “He spent nearly all of his life in here. I think when he dies his ghost is going to come back and haunt these old, dusty shelves.”

No one spoke for quite a few minutes after that. Sam began to browse the shelves, occasionally picking up a wand and waving it around, imagining that she was a real witch and that she was casting the spell which would kill this Morda person and rid the world of evil forever . . .

“Whoa!” Sam shouted, dropping the wand she was holding and staring at it.

“What is it?” Brian called, hustling over, Neville at his heels.

All three of them stood together and Samantha pointed to the wand, lying harmless on the dusty floorboards of Ollivander’s wand shop. 

“It – it got hot!” Sam gasped, holding her right hand out, palm up, staring at the red mark on her skin.

Brian bent down and picked the wand up, gazing at it curiously. “It’s holly and unicorn hair, twelve inches. It’s quite a nice wand, actually. Good for Transfiguration. Here, try it again. Hang onto it this time.”

Sam nodded and took the wand. She struggled to maintain her grasp on it as a bolt of white-hot heat travelled up her arm, reaching a point in her shoulder and growing.

“Wave it!” Brian commanded excitedly.

Sam did. It omitted blinding blue sparks.

“Strange!” Brian exclaimed, staring at Samantha as though he’d never seen her before. “Are you sure you are Muggle?”

“I – well yes, I am. If I wasn’t, I’d have gone to Hogwarts or something, wouldn’t I?”

Neville and Brian exchanged looks.

“I’ve never heard of this happening before!” Brian staggered back to the front of his shop and leaned against his counter. Neville and Samantha followed.

“What does it mean?” Sam asked, looking from Brian, to Neville, then back to Brian.

“Sell her the wand, Brian. It’s compatible with her. Know any spells, Sam?”

“Yeah. Wingardium Leviosa.” She levitated the heavy crate from Brian’s counter to the floor, and then back again. Neville was impressed.

“I definitely don’t think you are Muggle,” Neville said with a grin. “Wait till Harry hears about this!”

 

It was dark by the time Brian Ollivander finally closed his shop and headed for home, Samantha on his heels. They strode down the deserted street toward the Leaky Cauldron, where they would take the Floo back to the Burrow. But along the way, something caught Samantha’s eye. She turned abruptly down a side alleyway, but Brian didn’t see her. He kept right on toward the Leaky Cauldron, still thinking she was just behind him. He turned around to let Sam go into the dark pub first, but she was nowhere in sight. He began to panic, calling out her name and looking everywhere.

“Sam! Samantha!”

Sam barely registered the fact that Brian was calling her name with increasing urgency. She approached the dark figure, lying on the ground in the alleyway. He was wrapped in torn, bloody black cloth, and had been lain out in a pile of garbage. A small groan told her he was still alive, and she crept ever closer, excitement growing in the pit of her stomach. If this was who she thought it was . . .

Her pale hand inched toward the cloth covering the figure’s face. Once it was grasped tightly in her fist, she gave it a small twitch, revealing the sallow-skinned face beneath it.

The hooked nose was out of alignment, and there was blood matting his long black hair, but his fathomless black eyes were open and his thin mouth was slacked, allowing him to breathe easier. But even through all this, Samantha recognized him. Severus Snape, Potions Master Extraordinaire. 

She quickly pulled out her wand and pointed it at the prostrate potions professor. A whispered, “Wingardium Leviosa!” later, and Samantha proudly emerged from the alley, nearly colliding with Brian.

“Where were you?” he shouted. “You could have been kidnapped or something, you now that? Merlin, I thought you’d been killed or worse!”

“I’m sorry, Brian,” Samantha said calmly. “But I saw Snape lying in that alley over there, and I couldn’t just leave him!”

“That’s still no reason to – Snape? Snape? What do you mean you found Snape? . . .”

He trailed off, looking at the floating figure beside Sam. He paled, and quickly felt on Snape’s neck for a pulse. Finding one, he gave a sigh of relief and took over control of the dark wizard.

“I’ve got to take him to St. Mungo’s. Can you go back to the Burrow by yourself?”

Sam nodded. “But why can’t you bring him to the Burrow?”

“Because, Sam. He needs more help than we can give him. Neville is at work. I’ll take Snape straight to him. You just go back. It’s safer there for you. Go. Go.”

“Okay, I’m going!” Sam followed him through the back alleyway of the Leaky Cauldron, back into the warmth of the dingy pub. Tom was still serving drinks, but he was about to close up and go to bed. Sam watched Brian take Snape out the door into Muggle London, and then made her way to the huge fireplace. She tossed in some Floo powder and opened her mouth to yell, “The Burrow!” But something went wrong. Strong arms grasped her from behind and dragged her away into the shadows. She heard a “Stupefy!” shouted at her, and then knew no more.


	11. Dreams and Discoveries

Disclaimer: I own Samantha and Brian. Everyone else belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling.

 

Chapter Eleven: Dreams and Discoveries

“You love me, don’t you, Harry?”

“Of course I love you, Draco.”

“Will you kiss me? Just to prove it?”

Lips met briefly, then pulled apart.

“Is that enough, Draco?”

“It’s never enough from you,” Draco Malfoy sighed. “I always want more of you.”

Harry smiled and squeezed Draco’s hand tightly.

“No matter what happens today, Draco, I’ll always love you. Remember that.”

“I’ll always remember it, Harry. And I want you to remember the same.”

“Good luck, Draco.”

“Good luck, Harry.”

 

Harry sat bolt upright on his cot, breathing heavily. It had been years since he’d last had that dream. He wondered why all of the forgotten moments were coming back. Why was he dreaming about the tender moments in these troubled times?

He stretched his arms straight out, trying once again to relieve the ache in his shoulders he’d had ever since that Quidditch accident sixteen years ago. He knew it was hopeless.

A sudden thought entered his mind about his faithful pet dog, Snuffles. What had become if him? Was he staying at the Burrow with Sam and the Weasleys? He was struck with the terrifying thought that maybe he was alone in the house in Bristol, starving to death. Harry didn’t quite understand why this thought was so troubling at the moment. The only explanation he could think of was that he was going mad even in the Dementor-less Azkaban.

He lay back down on the cot and closed his eyes, trying to will himself back to sleep. Maybe he could dream of those happy, happy days with Draco. Maybe that would help him take his mind off his present plight.

 

Samantha Turner opened her eyes, blinked, and closed them again. She felt mildly comfortable, and even tough she didn’t really know where she was, her fuzzy mind told her that there was no reason to get up. She lay there for several more minutes before opening her eyes again. Her brain had begun to wake up at last, and her curiosity was fast overriding her physical comfort. Where was she? How did she get here?

Sam sat up quickly, making herself dizzy. She was in a dark stone room, on a straw mat in the corner, and the damp floor all around was littered with a residue of rotting hay. She carefully got to her feet and staggered forward. Her legs were stiff and cramped from lack of use. After stumbling a few feet, her hands met wood. She had reached the door.

Panicking slightly, she grasped the brass handle tightly and pulled, hoping that the door would come open. She struggled with the door until she was very exhausted. Her panic was less than slight now, and she went back to her mat and sat with her legs crossed and her head in her hands.

Why was she here? The last thing she remembered was the Floo in the Leaky Cauldron. This was certainly not the Burrow, so where was she?

The heavy door creaked open to admit a young redheaded man wearing horn-rimmed glasses. He carried a silver tray in his hand, and on the tray lay a sandwich and a goblet of pumpkin juice. The man laid the tray down in the straw at the centre of the tiny room, and then made to leave, but Sam called out to him.

“Wait! Wait!”

The man stopped and stared at her. “What do you want?”

“I –” Sam began. “Percy? Percy Weasley?”

“How do you know?” Percy gasped, obviously flustered. “Ah, never mind. Our Lord had suggested that I bring you lunch. You should remember to thank him when you meet him.”

A sudden thought popped into Sam’s head. She would meet Morda. She would find out who he was. Maybe she could find a way out, or find a way to get a message to the Weasleys or something, telling them, solving the little mystery for them.

“Eat, girl,” Percy spat. “It will be your last meal.”

And with that, the door fell shut again as Percy left, and Sam heard the sound of a heavy key scraping in a heavy lock. To anyone else, that door closing and locking, leaving silence, darkness, and solitude behind, would seem so final, so depressing, but Samantha Turner wasn’t anyone else. She was determined that she would find a way out. She was determined to survive.

The door swung open again almost immediately, and this time, a tall man with long platinum-blonde hair entered, carrying a large black cane. He closed the door behind him, and smirked cruelly.

“So, Miss Turner,” he said in a bored, lazy drawl, “I trust that your stay here has been – comfortable.”

“I know you!” Sam breathed. “You’re Lucius Malfoy!”

“Indeed. Now, let’s dispense with these trivial pleasantries. My Lord and Master has sent me here to prepare you for your introduction.”

“Prepare me?” Sam asked, her voice rising slightly due to panic. “Prepare me how?”

“Funny you should ask.” Lucius Malfoy brought his cane quickly up and over his head before slamming it down onto the straw-covered floor. Sam paled. He was going to beat her!

“If you hit me,” she breathed, standing up and backing further into her corner, “You’ll regret it.”

Lucius’ eyes twinkled. “Oh no, my dear. It is you who will regret it.”

There was nowhere to run – Sam was cornered. She watched in horror as Lucius came ever closer. Her dark brown eyes followed the cane as it made its journey over Malfoy’s head and shut tightly as she heard the swish of it being brought down. Then there was a dull thud and a brief throb of pain, and Samantha knew no more.

 

For the second time that night, Harry sat upright on his cot in Azkaban, breathing heavily. Sam. Sam was in trouble! He had to tell the Weasleys!

Leaping from his bed, Harry began to shout for a guard, his cries echoing down the long, deserted corridor of the east wing of the complex.

“Help! Help me, please! HELP!”

A guard came running, holding his wand in one hand and a half-eaten Cauldron Cake in the other. Harry wasted no time in asking him to Floo Arthur Weasley and deliver his message.

“They’ve got Sam in the cellar of Malfoy Manor!” Harry gasped, watching as the young man swallowed the rest of his cake whole, conjured a quill and parchment, and took down his words.

Twenty minutes later, Ron Weasley arrived at Azkaban, demanding to see Harry.

“But sir, you can’t! Visitors aren’t ‘lowed in this time o’ night!” the young guard gasped, trying to hold back the redhead.

“I’m not visiting. I have to question him. It’s part of our investigation.”

The guard had no response, and so was pushed aside.

“Ron!” Harry breathed, grasping his friend’s hand through the bars of his cell. “Ron! They – they’ve got Sam! They’ve kidnapped her!”

“I know,” Ron murmured, taking out a large black key from his pocket and undoing the door to his friend’s cell. “Brian said he’d sent her home through the Floo, but she never got there. Someone must have taken her from the Leaky Cauldron.”

“Why wasn’t Brian with her?” Harry frowned. Sam had been in danger and no one had kept an eye on her?

“Oh, well, they found Snape. Brian was taking him to St. Mungo’s.”

“They found Severus? How? Where?”

“Ina trash bin in Diagon Alley. We think he was dumped there after Bellatrix got all the information out of him. She must have assumed he was dead, and then just left him there for us to find.”

“He’s a strong one, though.” Harry said, a small tear leaking out of his eye. “He is so much stronger than the rest of us . . . I’m sorry, Ron. I’m having a hard time controlling my emotions.”

“S’ all right.” After a brief pause, Ron continued. “And you said she’s in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor?”

“Yeah. I had another one of those visions. I don’t really understand them. I mean, I’m not connected to Morda in some way, am it?” Harry stretched his arms again, trying to relieve the ever-present ache in his shoulders.

“I’m gonna get you out of here soon, mate. I promise.”

“Don’t worry about me. Save Sam. They’re gonna kill her.”

Ron gave Harry’s hand a squeeze then slipped out of the cell.

“We’ll get her, Harry. Don’t worry.”

And then Ron was gone. Harry slumped down on his cot with his head in his hands. There was so much going on! Too much, in his opinion. He closed his eyes and drifted off into a restless sleep.


	12. Questions

Disclaimer: I own Samantha and Brian. Everyone else belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling.

 

Chapter Twelve: Questions

Severus Snape very slowly opened his eyes and looked around. It was white and bright, and he blinked quickly a few times to get his eyes to adjust. He was in a hospital – that much he knew – and he hurt everywhere. After lying there for a few minutes, the door to his private room opened and the handsome young Neville Longbottom entered.

“How are you feeling, sir?” Neville asked nervously, stepping closer to his formidable old potions teacher. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was still a bit afraid of Snape, even after all those years.

“Horrible. Completely horrible. Why am I here?”

Neville paused, wondering how to phrase his next sentence. “How ─ what do you remember about the past few days?”

“I –” Severus stopped. He’d had a split second memory of a dark woman with heavy-lidded eyes and of extreme pain, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. “Nothing. I remember nothing.”

“You don’t remember Bellatrix? Your torture? Anything?”

“No. It is blank.”

“Is there anything you can remember? Who are you?”

“Severus Snape. I am the Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but Potter – Harry Potter, that is – has just killed the Dark Lord, and I am planning to retire.”

“Professor, don’t you remember anything about the past fifteen years?”

Snape shook his head. Who was this incompetent healer? And why was he asking so many questions? He squinted to see the name badge on the young wizard’s chest.

N. Longbottom.

“Longbottom? Neville Longbottom?”

“Yes, sir,” Neville squeaked. “I’m thirty-two now. It’s been fifteen years. You lost your memory after Voldemort’s death, and you’ve been in St. Mungo’s – under my care – ever since.

“Then I suppose that’s why I feel so terrible?”

Neville took a deep breath and steadied himself for the long explanation he knew would have to come.

 

Brian Ollivander paced up and down the drawing room of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. He had bought it some years back and it had been carefully restored under his watchful eye from the rotting shell of a manor to a grand mansion. 

Everything seemed hopeless. Since Harry had had the vision of Morda and Sam, the entire Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been searching for her with no avail. They even tried going back to Azkaban to get the address from Harry, but he found he couldn’t utter it. That could only mean one thing: that someone had performed the Fidelius Charm on it. And that meant that the chances of finding Samantha before Morda killed her were very slim.

So that’s why Brian was now pacing up and down in the drawing room of the house he’d bought fifteen years ago at auction from a boy who said he’d never set foot there again.

He sank down onto the couch, feeling more helpless than ever. Something large and warm jumped up onto the couch next to him and he turned to look at it. It was the dog Ron had brought over from Harry’s house – Snuffles. Brian felt somehow comforted when the dog began to lick his hand in earnest, looking up at him with its big brown eyes.

“You miss Harry, don’t you, boy?” Brian murmured, reaching over to pat the dog’s shaggy head. “Yeah. I’ve never even met him and I miss him.”

Brian spent several more minutes sitting calmly with Harry’s dog. He liked the quiet companionship. He’d never thought about owning a dog before. His parents had always discouraged him from keeping pets. Maybe having one of his own wouldn’t be so bad. It was nice and warm and comfortable sitting there with Snuffles, and he was beginning to drift off to sleep, feeling less alone than he had in quite a while.

The giant doorbell rang suddenly, drawing him from his comfortable cocoon of sleep. The door was answered by a house elf, who promptly came to Brian with the message: “Miss Lovegood here to see you, sir.”

Brian huffed and rolled his eyes. He’d been trying to shake Luna since the first day he’d met her, but she seemed completely oblivious to everything except her own infatuation.

“Show her in,” Brian sighed.

“Brian,” Luna said in her far-away, dreamy voice. “I heard what happened. I’m sorry you can’t find that little girl.”

“She’s hardly a little girl,” Brian said stiffly. “She’s nearly of age.”

“Still, I’m sorry you can’t find her? Are you sure she was kidnapped? I mean, mightn’t she have been sucked up by the giant winged chupacabra? 

Brian once again rolled his eyes. Luna Lovegood really was crazy. Her nickname suited her perfectly. Loony. Loony Luna Lovegood.

“Harry said she was kidnapped.”

“Ah. Of course. And he’s always right and I never am.”

“Look, Loony – I mean Luna, I – I guess I’ve just got to get this off my chest. I don’t –”

“Hey, Brian?”

A tall, redheaded man fell out of the drawing room fireplace suddenly, scattering ashes all about and effectively interrupting Brian’s confession.

“Ron?”

“Yeah. Sorry to interrupt. I didn’t know you had company.” Ron nodded toward Luna. “Listen, Harry’s just broken out of Azkaban.”

Brian leapt to his feet. “What?”

“Yeah. The Ministry is completely baffled. He didn’t have a wand. They don’t think it’s possible for someone to break out just through sheer willpower.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s coming through in a minute. He needs a place to stay for a few days – to recover. I figured this is the safest place.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll have the house elves get him a room ready. Is he all right? I mean, Merlin, breaking out of Azkaban like that . . . does he have a plan or something?”

“He’ll tell you when he gets here. He’s cooked up some wild scheme, but I told him it will have to wait until Neville looks him over and says he’s fit to do it.”

Brian nodded. “WAGGLE!” he called loudly.

A small female elf appeared at the door, dressed in a very neat, very clean dish towel. “Master Brian called?”

“Prepare one of the guest rooms with clean sheets. Make sure you air it out a bit.”

The fire in the fireplace turned green abruptly, and then another person fell onto the hearthrug at Brian’s feet. Harry stood up slowly, brushing himself off. He was dizzy, and swayed slightly from side to side.

“Hello,” Brian said quietly, offering Harry his hand.

“Hi,” Harry said shyly. He took the proffered hand, gazing into Brian’s intense blue eyes. Samantha’s stories had not done him justice. Brian Ollivander had to be the most bloody drop dead gorgeous of any man Harry had ever seen – including Draco! After several long second, Harry had to force himself to let go of Brian’s hand. Damn. What a time for his libido to pop up again. Luna and Ron were still in the room! Harry found himself wishing that they would leave. He wanted to be alone with Brian.

Brian was thinking nearly the exact same thing. He wanted to throw Harry on the sofa and snog him senseless. His overactive imagination began to write a beautifully erotic scene involving him and Harry, and he had to forcefully pull himself out of it. He had only met Harry ten seconds ago!

Ron noticed the strange, lustful look that passed between the two men and felt it was high time he left them to themselves.

“I’ll just – uh – go now. Neville will be by in the morning, Harry. Well – bye!”

“What got into him?” Luna said as the fire grew green again and Ron disappeared. Harry and Brian both jumped and turned in her direction.

“Oh, hi, Luna!” Harry said in a falsely cheerful voice. “How’re things going with the pub?”

“Oh, you know. The usual. The Ministry’s been investigating there ever since that Lestrange woman got caught on camera. Some of my more unsavoury characters have taken their business elsewhere. Pity. They were some of my best customers.”

Brian cursed inwardly. Ron could sense what was passing between him and Harry, but Luna couldn’t? Was she planning on staying there all night? Brian watched as Harry sank clumsily down onto the sofa.

There was a very long and uncomfortable silence, broken only by the squeaking of the sofa springs as Harry tried to make himself comfortable. The silence soon became unbearable, so Brian broke it.

“Luna? I really hate to be rude, but I don’t really feel like entertaining guests tonight.”

“Oh, yes, of course, love. I’ll see you soon.” She stood up, gave Brian a quick peck on the lips, and then saw herself out. Harry stood up too, and made to leave.

“”I didn’t mean to impose Mr. Ollivander. Ron suggested that I come here. I didn’t mean to disturb –”

“No! No! you’re fine. It’s just her. She thinks that we’re a couple. I honestly can’t stand her!”

“She’s my friend,” Harry said slowly.

“Ahhh, I didn’t mean – she’s always all over me! I never have gotten the chance to tell her that I’m . . . that I don’t . . . that I . . . er . . . don’tlkikegirls,” Brian finished quickly. He’d known he was gay since he was seventeen. Why was this simple confession so difficult?

Harry’s’ green eyes brightened and he suddenly grinned. “I know exactly what you mean.” He sank back down onto the sofa and shifted around a little. “I don’t like girls either.” He yawned as he spoke and let his head loll back onto the pillows.

“Would – would you like some dinner, er, Mr. Potter?”

“Caw ‘ee ‘arry,” Harry said through another huge yawn.

“Harry,” Brian spoke the name slowly, as though tasting it. “Okay then, call me Brian.”

“Brian,” Harry repeated. He yawned again. “Oh, Merlin, I’m so sleepy . . .”

“I’ll take you to your room, if you like,” Brain said shyly. 

Harry held out a hand and Brian took it, pulling his new friend to his feet.

“It’s this way. Up the stairs.”

Harry leaned heavily on Brian as they made their way upstairs. Brian slipped an arm about the other man’s waist to help support him. Their bodies were pressing together. Harry could feel Brian’s warmth radiating through his clothes, and suddenly he wasn’t quite so tired anymore.

“Just a little further, Harry,” Brian murmured into Harry’s ear. “This is your room right here.”

They stepped into a very large, very sumptuous room. Waggle, the house-elf, was still there, straightening the huge gold duvet cover on the giant-sized bed. Everything seemed fresh and new, and very expensive – everything, that was – except the painting at one end of the room. The frame was blackened with age, and the portrait was empty save for a chair where the occupant should be sitting. Phineas Nigellus. 

Brian shooed his house-elf away and turned down the bed with one hand, while the other was still around Harry’s waist. He gently let Harry down onto the bed, and was surprised when he felt himself being drawn down, to. Strong arms wound around his neck. Brian fell fully on top of Harry, and could feel – something, dare he name it? – jabbing at his stomach. A hot mouth met his, and soon they were so deeply wrapped up in their kiss, it would have taken a crowbar to pry them apart. Or a guilty conscious. Harry suddenly pushed Brian away,

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Harry said, tears brimming in his eyes. He turned away. He couldn’t let Brian see.

“Done what? The kiss?”

Harry nodded. “I – I just met you and . . . and . . . a-and.”

The tears gushed forth, no matter how he tried to restrain them. Brian was alarmed. He sat up and pulled Harry to his broad, muscular chest.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” Brian whispered, stroking the long black hair. “Did I do something wrong? Was I coming on too strong to you? Did I frighten you?”

“N-no. I – I just . . . I just can’t do that to him.”

“Do what to who?” Brian was now very confused. Did Harry have a boyfriend?

“Cheat on Draco. I – I just can’t!”

Harry’s sobs began in earnest. He couldn’t hold them back, and no longer cared to. He’d broken his vow to Draco. He wasn’t supposed to be with anyone but his true love – ever. And now he’d kissed another man. Oh, Merlin! Draco was probably rolling in his grave right now!

“Shhh. Harry.” Brian rubbed small circles on Harry’s back, trying to soothe him. Harry only cried harder. “Harry, is there anything I can do to help?”

Harry shook his head against Brian’s chest. He let Brian hold him until the tears had stopped. He was sleepy now, after his long cry, and felt himself drifting off in Brian’s warm embrace. Harry inhaled deeply. Brian smelled of some kind of rare spices and of vanilla. It was a very nice combination, in Harry’s opinion. He felt he could stay there all day, in Brian’s arms, folded against the strong chest, breathing in the sweet fragrance. No, wait. He couldn’t think that. Draco – he . . . 

‘He’s dead,’ said the nasty little voice in Harry’s head. ‘Brain’s nice and good-looking. Why push him away?’

“Because I’m afraid of losing him,” Harry answered the little voice aloud. Brian looked at him.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

Harry didn’t reply. He didn’t feel like talking. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to sleep curled up in those strong arms. So he did.

Brian realized in a few moments that he wouldn’t be able to ask any more questions. And it appeared that Harry wasn’t going to move any time soon. Slowly, he leaned back on the bed, still clutching the dark haired man. Sleep took him eventually, but before he closed his eyes completely, he promised that he would look into this little matter with Harry. The Boy Who Lived was becoming increasingly intriguing as time wore on.


	13. A Plan in Action

Chapter Thirteen: A Plan in Action

“My Lord, it appears that Potter has escaped from Azkaban.” Percy Weasley swept into Morda’s chamber and fell to his knees before the dark lord’s chair. He leaned forward until the tip of his nose met cold stone, and his horn-rimmed glasses started to slip down.

“What?” Exclaimed Morda, jerking upright in his chair so that the top of his bald head was visible over the back of the chair. “Escaped?”

Percy sat up, pushing his glasses up his nose, and said, “Yes, My Lord. Escaped. No one knows how he did it.”

Morda drew his hand back and then slapped Percy across the face, forcing him backward like a rag doll onto the cold stone floor. “You were supposed to be watching him!”

“I was, My Lord,” Percy began, but he was dealt another blow. “I had no idea he was going to escape!”

“You will be punished, Percy, for not following orders. Lucius, if you don’t mind . . .”

There was a flash of pure terror on the red head’s face as a man emerged from the shadows behind Morda’s chair. Wand drawn and his silver eyes fixed on the sniveling man at his Lord’s feet, Malfoy approached. He raised his wand, his eyes gleaming. And then . . .

“NO, WAIT!” Percy cried, scrambling backward from the menacing figure. “I – I do know where he is! Please, My Lord, have mercy!”

“Where has he gone?”

“T-t-t to Ollivander’s home. It’s in London. N-number t-twelve, G-G-G-Grimmauld Place.”

Morda sat back in his chair, thinking. The information Percy had just given him would surely more than make up for his failure. But then, he had still failed to execute an order. Perhaps it was best to just let Lucius carry on with the torture.

Percy began to scream as Lucius hit him with the Cruciatus Curse. He was, under no circumstances to kill his Lord’s most faithful servant, but he could make him scream. Morda shifted forward in his seat eagerly. Watching this form of torture had become his favourite pastime of late. Such a pity those two Muggles couldn’t have partaken in this, it was quite fun, actually. Percy was screaming still, and was sure his throat must be bleeding. It sure hurt. But the pain of the curse was too intense to be able to hold back, and somewhere along the line, his screams merged into someone else’s, and Harry Potter woke with a start in the guest bedroom of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

He sat up quickly, surveying his surroundings. So that had been another vision. And that meant that Morda knew where he was, although how he would use that information, Harry couldn’t say.

A snore dragged him somewhat from his feeling of panic, and he turned to behold Brian, stretched out on the bed next to him. He was dimly aware of their halted activities the night before, and he remembered stopping because of something to do with Draco, but he wasn’t himself last night. Azkaban had affected him more than he cared to admit. The walls were coated in a residue of misery left behind by the dementors. It seemed that even after fifteen years, the residue was still potent.

Brian mumbled something in his sleep and rolled over a bit, letting his mouth fall open and a little drool to escape onto the pillow. The sight was somewhat endearing, but there was no time for anything now. Morda knew where he was, and he had to put his plan into action far sooner than he would have liked. Now, all he had to do was wake Brian. A task easier said than done.

“Brian?” He whispered, leaning closer to the handsome blonde. “Brian?”

But Brain didn’t stir. In fact, Harry’s third attempt at a whisper was drowned out by a loud snore.

Next, he resorted to gently shaking the sleeping man, and his shaking grew steadily more violent as the seconds ticked on.

“Just five more minutes, Mum,” Brian murmured, rolling onto his side, away from Harry.

“No, not just five more minutes. Come on, wake up.” Harry spoke this time at a normal level, but still, he had little effect on Brian. Finally, he drew a deep breath and shouted, “WAKE UP SLEEPING BEAUTY!”

Brian jerked awake at that and sat up, blinking rapidly. “Oh, Harry,” Brian said sleepily. “Sorry. I – uh – I forgot where I was.”

“Yes, I sort of noticed when you called me Mum.” Harry chuckled and slid off of the bed, stretching and groaning as his muscles protested. 

“You – ah – you want breakfast?”

“I don’t think there’s much time,” Harry said staring into Brain’s bright eyes. “Morda knows where I am. They’ll probably be here in a couple of hours.”

“Wait, but how could they . . .”

“They’ve apparently got spies inside the Ministry and at Azkaban. They know I escaped, and they know where I’ve gone. There’s not much time. I’ve got to get my plan going.”

“You never did tell me this plan,” Brian said slowly. “How dangerous is it?”

Harry gave a little laugh. “How dangerous? I’m going unannounced into enemy territory.”

“So you’re going to the Manor.”

“Yep. I’m going to try direct Apparition. I had planned on gaining a bit more strength before I left, but there just isn’t time.”

“You at least have to wait until Neville comes. He’s gonna check you over.”

“If he comes before I leave, fine. But I’m not waiting around for him.”

There was a brief, awkward silence, which was soon interrupted by a loud clanging of the antique doorbell.

“I’ll answer that. You go – take a shower or something. Get ready to leave or whatever. If you want breakfast I’ll get Waggle to make some. Just – hang on,” he said as the doorbell rang again.

Neville was standing impatiently outside, a large cardboard parcel wrapped in brown paper tucked under one arm. The box was heavy, and his arm was tired from having carried the box all the way from St. Mungo’s. He hated having to come here so early and disturb Brian, but it had to be done, and the earlier he did it the less chance there was of being caught.

“Neville!” Brian gasped, relieved, as he swung open the door. “Come in. Come in. Harry’s getting ready to leave.”

“What? Now? I thought he was going to wait a few days.”

“Can’t. He says Morda knows where he is.”

“So they’ll be coming here!” Neville clapped a hand over his mouth and set the box down on the little console table in the foyer. “So there’s not much time then, is there?”

“Nope. He says he’s going to try direct Apparition.”

“But that’s – that’s too dangerous! He – he can’t!”

“It’s the only way to save Sam.” Brian shrugged. Things were moving too fast. He wanted to know everything about Harry’s plan so he could help, but there wasn’t enough time.

“Harry’s having a shower. He’s upstairs, in the guest bedroom. Here, wait. WAGGLE!”

“Master called Waggle?”

“Take Mr. Longbottom to Harry’s bedroom.”

“Yes, Master.”

“And then see to breakfast. And be quick about it.”

“Yes, Master. Waggle will be speedy quick. Waggle will please his Master.”

“Good Waggle.”

The door bell rang again, startling Brian. Who could be calling now? He waited until Neville had disappeared up the stairs to open the door.

Two Ministry men stood outside. One of them flashed up a badge with the inscription Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The other one stood still.

“Mr. Ollivander?”

“Yes? Can I help you?”

“We wondered if we might come in for a moment. There’s some questions we’d like to ask you.”

“Ah, sure. No problem.” Brian led them into the drawing room and gestured for them to have a seat.

“Can I get you two gentlemen anything? My house-elf was just getting breakfast ready. Maybe you’d like some coffee?”

“Tea, would be nice, thank you.”

“Right. Waggle! TEA!”

There was an awkward little silence, and then Waggle brought in the tea tray.

“Waggle wants only to please Master,” the elf said as he gave a low bow.

“Good Waggle. Now go make breakfast.”

Brian still didn’t speak for several minutes. He was straining to listen for any noises from upstairs that would give him away.

“Mr. Ollivander,” the Auror began, sipping his tea with his little pinky finger sticking out. “Is there anyone here?”

“Oh – wha-? Oh. No, sir. Just me and Waggle.”

A big dark hairy thing streaked into the room, holding a brightly colored ball in it’s mouth. Snuffles sat at Brian’s feet, wagging his tail and clawing at Brian’s leg to get his attention.

“Just you and the elf, you say?” the Auror raised his eyebrows.

“Well, just us and Snuffles here. I wasn’t aware that you counted dogs as someone in the house.”

“I see. You’re sure no one else is here?”

“Positive.”

“Because we happen to know for a fact that Neville Longbottom, the healer from St. Mungo’s, just came inside the building. We’ve been watching the house since early this morning.”

“Oh! Yes, of course. He stopped by to deliver some potions that I need.”

“Healing potions?”

“Ah, yes. Experimental ones. I’m dabbling with potions in my spare time, you see. I’m hoping to one day get my Master’s. I’d like to teach at Hogwarts.”

“I see. Well, Mr. Ollivander, it seems to me that you are trying to hide something.”

“W-what makes you think that?”

“I have your school records here. You didn’t even manage to scrape an Acceptable on your Potions O.W.L.s. How do you expect to gin a Mastery if you didn’t pass in school?

“I – I told you. I’m experimenting. I’ve been teaching myself for years now.”

“Really?” It was a question, but a dry question. The Auror didn’t really want to know. He was just trying to call Brian’s bluff. “I don’t suppose you could tell me what you’re experimenting with at the moment?”

“I – I’m experimenting with a better form of the Wolfsbane Potion.”

“Indeed. And what improvements have you made?”

“It – the taste. I’ve found a way to flavor it so it’s easier to take.”

“Really? And what’s your secret?”

“I – I really can’t tell you. It’s still in experimental stages. And it’s also top secret. D-don’t want others stealing my work, you know.”

“You can trust me, Mr. Ollivander. What’s your secret?”

“Brian?” Neville was coming down the stairs, his parcel in his hand. When he saw the two men from the Ministry, he froze. “Brian, can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Why, Mr. Longbottom! We were just discussing the reason for your arrival here today. Perhaps you might like to show us what’s in that parcel.”

Neville hadn’t been truly afraid in quite some time. The last time he’d been scared to the point of trembling had been when they had been attacking the Death Eaters, and everyone was getting killed. Now he was shaking again.

“If you’ll just excuse me, gentlemen, just for a moment. Help yourself to more tea, if you want.”

Brian walked as quickly as he dared out of the drawing room, took Neville by the arm, and dragged him back up the stairs.

“We have to get out of here,” Brian whispered urgently. “Where’s Harry?”

“He just got out of the shower.”

“Is he okay to Apparate?”

“I’d say so, yes, but it’s really up to him.”

Brian dragged Neville into Harry’s room. Harry was getting dressed. He wore only his briefs, and was in the process of putting on his jeans. Brian paused for a moment and watched as the fabric covered globes of Harry’s arse disappeared into the tight jeans. He licked his lips, for they had suddenly gone dry, and whispered, “Harry.”

Harry turned around, alarmed.

“There are two men from the Ministry downstairs. I think that they know you’re here.”

“Maybe I can just leave now, and then you won’t get into trouble.”

“I had a better idea. You know where the house is, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“So all you have to do is Apparate there.”

“Yes, that is my plan.”

“Neville and I are going with you.”

“Wait, what?” Neville gasped, taking a step back. “I – I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“Harry can’t go alone! And if we go with him, we can get away from those pesky Aurors.”

“But Brian –”

“I hate to admit it, but you’re right,” Harry sighed. “I can’t do this alone.”

“Come on, Neville, grab Harry’s arm.”

“But Brian –”

“Hold it right there! All of you! You are under arrest for harboring a criminal and for lying to detectives and –”

A loud crack sufficiently ended the Auror’s tirade. The three men were gone. The Auror kicked the door frame in anger. They had been so close to finally catching them, but they were too late. Morda would not be happy.

 

So very sorry for the long, long time it took to update. I've had several deadlines for my novel, and like the procrastinator that I am, I had to cram everything in these past few weeks. There are only about three more chapters to this story, and I hope to get them posted soon. As always, reviews make the process go faster. Thanks a bunch. 

S. R. Forests


	14. Malfoy Manor

Chapter Fourteen: Malfoy Manor

Samantha Turner opened her eyes again. So she hadn’t been dreaming. Her torture at the hands of Lucius Malfoy had been real. And if she thought very carefully about how long it had been since she got here . . . must have been about a week and a half. Everyone must have given up on finding her alive by now.

She sat carefully up, wincing. I must look like one solid black and purple bruise, she thought. Oh, Malfoy would pay once she found a way out of here. She would see to that. 

Noise outside her dark prison caught her attention. Someone was out there, wanting to come in, but he was waiting for something. After several seconds, the man outside pulled a huge key ring from his pocket and jabbed the right key into the lock.

The heavy door creaked as it swung forward on its hinges. Sam was struck blind momentarily as the light from the hallway fell on her long unused eyes. She fell back somewhat in pain, the intensity of the light burning her retinas. Hands scrabbled at her face, she wanted nothing more then to snap her eyes closed again and turn away, but she kept trying to force herself to see who was entering her little cell.

“Turn the light down,” said a male voice. The light was instantly dimmed, and Sam took her hands from her face. It was too dark to see the man’s face properly, but she could see his outline. He was somewhat short and heavy, and he was very bald on top. Morda.

“Well, Miss Turner, I finally get to meet you. You’ve been unconscious for some time. Nearly two days. Lucius must have been a little over-enthusiastic. But you have to remember that this was the first time in many years that he’s been able to torture someone. He had a lot of pent up frustration to deal with.

“There are a few thing I should like to discuss with you before you die. Until I met you, Miss Turner, I did not think that Muggles had the propensity for knowledge that wizards did. I was resolved to admire Muggles for once again showing us wizards up, but then, you can imagine my surprise when I found that you were not who we thought you were.”

“And just who am I, then” Sam spat. Her throat was dry and burning, but she forced the words out anyway.

“You don’t know? You don’t know that you’re a witch? I thought you had a wand?”

“I – I do, but you must be mistaken.”

“The records never lie.”

“Records?” Sam tried swallowing a few times to ease the pain in her throat.

“Yes. Oh, surely you know about the Hogwarts book? It’s a magical book that lists the name of every witch or wizard who will be in attendance. Your name appears the very minute you’re born. Imagine my surprise when Percy Weasley found your name in the book! And next to it was a note. Your parents requested that you not attend. They didn’t want to have a witch in the family. Oh, didn’t they tell you?”

Samantha was speechless, and it wasn’t because of her throat.

“Yes, Miss Turner. You should have gone to Hogwarts. How does it feel to know that your parents lied to you all this time? Does it make their death any easier?”

Samantha shook her head frantically.

“Yes, their death. You know Harry didn’t kill them. But do you know who did?”

“P-Percy,” Sam whispered. Harry had mentioned something about it at the jail.

“Yes. But do you know how? One of my most genius plans. I set this takeover plan into action years and years ago, before Voldemort fell. I will tell you about it, seeing as you aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

Lucius Malfoy and Percy Weasley squeezed into the tiny cell next to Morda. Percy locked the door from the inside and then closed it so that Sam couldn’t escape. Then he and the blonde conjured ropes and a gag and bound Sam tightly.

“Can’t have you escaping before Our Lord is finished,” came Lucius’ hot breath in her ear. 

“Thank you,” Morda said, stepping closer to Samantha. “And now for the story. It’s a long one, but I think you will enjoy it.”

Sam squeezed her eyes tight shut, but resigned herself to listen. Anything that Morda might tell her could be used against him once she escaped. If she escaped.

 

Harry, Brian, and Neville tumbled down onto each other. They helped each other up and brushed each other off, looking around. There was no house in sight. They were in the middle of a very dense wood.

“Harry,” Neville began, but Harry was already plunging deeper into the trees.

“Follow him,” Brian murmured. “Don’t let him out of sight.”

The three waded through the deep green underbrush, dodging huge tree-limbs and cool, sticky spider’s webs. It was getting darker the further in they walked, and Neville was more than ready to turn back.

“Harry, I think we should –” Neville began.

“Shhh!” Harry whirled around to his two companions. “Look, the house is just through this wood, all right? Trust me. I don’t know what kind of guard is on the house and I don’t want to accidentally stumble into some sort of Dark army.”

Brian nodded, but Neville still wasn’t so sure. He followed close behind Brian, however, and didn’t protest again.

The wood presently grew thinner. They found themselves wading through waist deep plants less and stepping over ankle high ones more. The air grew lighter, and the trees thinner. Gradually, a clearing came into view ahead, and in the clearing stood a huge mansion, half-rotten with age and neglect. The closer they got to the clearing, the more cautious the three became. There might be guards all around here.

Harry stopped suddenly, frozen still. His green eyes were glued to the house – to its mossy stone walls and the rotting roof and window shutters. The once immaculate garden was nothing more than weeds and ivy. The garden path was completely hidden, and the bench where he and Draco had spent several happy hours together, snogging and shagging, was nowhere to be seen. Harry was sure that if he went into those weeds he’d find nothing of the bench but the wrought iron legs, rusted through, and the rotting planks.  
Seeing the house like this scared him. He didn’t want to go inside and see what else time had done. He couldn’t. Draco would never have let the house go like this. If he’d lived . . . if he’d lived . . .

“Harry?” Brian tapped his shoulder lightly.

Harry didn’t respond. He stared unblinking at the rotting shell of Malfoy Manor. Memories washed over him so fast that he forgot where he was, what he was doing. He wasn’t going to save Samantha Turner from Morda, he was attacking a Death Eater hideout with the Order and with Draco.

“All right, we know there are about fifty of them in all,” Harry was saying to his troops. “They know we’re here, and they’re ready for us, but that doesn’t mean we can’t beat them. We’ve got some of the best fighters with us. There’s no way we can lose. All of you remember, be careful. Watch each other’s backs. I don’t want anyone to die in there. Voldemort is. This is the last real threat. Be careful.”

Brain and Neville exchanged glances as Harry gave his pep talk to his imaginary army.

“What’s wrong with him?” Brian whispered anxiously to Neville.

“It’s a flashback. I see it a lot with my patients. He thinks this is the night he led that attack that got nearly everyone killed.”

“What do we do?”

“Well, I don’t think we can get him out of it. We should drag him back into the woods just a bit, just in case there are any guards. Then they won’t see us.”

“So, so we just let him have it out?”

“I don’t think there’s anything we can do. Just make sure we stay undetected until it’s over.”

Harry turned back to the Death Eater hideout. Draco stepped up behind him and grasped his hand.

“It’s going to be all right, Harry. Really, it is.”

“Thanks, Draco.”

“We’ve been training for this forever.”

“I know. I know. But, I’m still worried. I – I finally did what I was supposed to do, you know? Once Voldemort was killed, everyone I loved was supposed to be safe. But they aren’t. And I don’t think they’ll ever be.”

Draco kissed Harry on the cheek and pressed himself up against his boyfriend. “Everything will be okay. You’ll see.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“You ready, Harry?” Remus asked, stepping forward slightly.

Harry nodded. “Let’s go.”

The entire Order of the Phoenix advanced on the house. There was one large group for each entrance, just to make sure that none of the Death Eaters could make an easy escape. They advanced in the well-planned patterns. They fought for entrance to the house and got in. Harry led a group right through the house where the Death Eaters were hiding, killing as they went. Finally he reached a huge room, which must have been a ballroom or something. And that’s where the fatal battle took place.

The Order rounded up what Death Eaters were in the room, and bound them, preparing to haul them all off to Azkaban. But they were ambushed by small band, led by Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange. Order members fell left and right. Harry barely had time to register that they had indeed been ambushed. Lucius advanced on him, wand drawn.

“You will pay for what you have done to our Lord,” Lucius spat, conjuring a magical circle around Harry, preventing him from escaping. “Crucio!” 

Harry crumpled to the ground, dropping his wand and screaming in pain. He was supposed to be able to block this. This was what he’d trained for so long for. And now he was failing.

“Now I have you where I want you,” Malfoy said softly, advancing. “And I am going to kill you now.”

Draco heard the words from the other side of the room. Whirling about, he darted toward the circle around his boyfriend and his father. 

“Draco, no! Don’t!” Remus Lupin threw out an arm to stop him, but there was a flash of green light and the werewolf fell dead.

The battle was in slow motion. Harry saw Draco coming out of the corner of his eye as he struggled to his feet. He saw Lucius raise his wand high above his head, he saw those thin, pale lips forming the words. The wand tip came down, level with his forehead. A jet of light shot out, and Harry thought that this was what his parents had seen before they died. The rush of cold green light. He closed his eyes, not wanting to watch his own death.

But death never came. A body hit the ground at his feet, and Harry cracked open one eye. Blonde hair. Draco.

Lucius stood still. He clearly had not meant to kill his son.

“You, you killed him,” Harry whispered, the tears not yet falling. “You killed your own son.”

“He was no son of mine,” Lucius snapped, regaining his composure. “My son would not have stood against his father’s cause. My son would not have become a whore to the likes of you.”

White anger flowed through Harry’s veins, hotter than any fire. He reached out and took Draco’s wand from his stilled hand, and gained his feet.

But before Harry could attack the bastard that had taken the life of his boyfriend, there was a crack, and Lucius disappeared.

Harry didn’t notice that all around him, people had stopped fighting and were simply staring. The magical circle dissipated, and Harry fell to his knees beside Draco. He reached out and stroked the white-blonde hair. His hands rolled the dead body over before he really knew what he was doing. Draco’s mercury eyes were still open, and his face was forever frozen in an expression of solid determination. Fighting back a sob, Harry reached out and very gently closed his beloved’s eyes. Draco Malfoy was no more.

Harry slowly came out of his flashback and found himself wrapped tightly in someone’s arms. He blinked a few times and looked up into Brian’s worried face.

“Are you okay now, Harry?” Neville asked quietly, stepping over them and reaching for Harry’s wrist so he could measure his pulse.

“Fine. I’m fine now. I’ll be all right. I – I just need a few minutes.”

 

“And you see, that’s how I did it,” Morda finished proudly. “I made sure Potter would not be in my way anymore. I did so want him to join me, but now that appears impossible. But you see, you turned out to be a bigger threat to me, Miss Turner. And so now I’m going to have to kill you.”

Samantha had been dreading this part. She was tied up. She no longer had her wand with her. How was she going to fight?

“Untie her, Percy,” Morda commanded, taking a step back. “And give her back her wand. I want to make this interesting.”

Sam found herself released, and her wand was shoved roughly into her bruised hand.

“Dueling. Such a lovely pastime, don’t you think? I’ll go a bit easy on you I think, since you’ve never had the proper training, but I want to see you die trying to save yourself with magic.”

Sam had only read about wizards duels. She had read about the Dueling Club in the Chamber of Secrets. She had read the account of Harry’s duel with Voldemort in the graveyard, and of Dumbledore’s duel with Voldemort in the Department of Mysteries. But she didn’t think reading about them was going to do her much good now.

“First, we bow. Go on. Bow,” Morda instructed.

Sam leaned in a bit, trying desperately to think of which spell she would use first. What was that nonverbal one from the sixth book? Sectumsempra! she thought, making wild slashing movements with her wand.

To her astonishment, the spell worked. Morda stumbled back, clutching his face as great gashes appeared and blood began to spurt out. She dodged Percy and ducked past Lucius into the corridor outside. She was free! Now she only had to get out of the house!

She took off at a run, listening as Morda screamed in pain and barked orders to his servants.

“CATCH THAT GIRL!”

Up a spiral staircase, up another staircase, and then down a long corridor. She heard several people behind her, but she didn’t dare turn back to see who they were or how close. She rounded a corner and took another flight of stairs. She figured she must be on the second floor now. The others were still on the stairs. If she could make it into one of these bedrooms, they wouldn’t know which one she’d disappeared into, and they’d have to search all of them. She took the third door on the left and grabbed the knob, but it was locked. She darted across the hall and tried the right door. It too was locked. They were coming. She didn’t have time to try every door.

She ran four more doors down and then tried the right hand door. To her astonishment, it opened, and she threw herself inside, locking it behind her.

Samantha didn’t bother looking at her surroundings at the moment. She heard the people in the hallway, trying every doorknob. What if this lock was broken? What if they came in? The pressed herself against the wall just next to the door, staring at the doorknob, panting from her run. She could hear them getting closer and closer. And then . . .

“The lock isn’t broken, you know.”

Dark eyes darted over the bedroom she found herself in. “Who’s there?”

A huge empty painting hung on the wall just a few feet from her, and the painting’s occupant stepped into view. She gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. The man in the painting was Draco Malfoy.


	15. Morda

Chapter Fifteen: Morda

“You . . . you’re . . .” Sam stammered stepping closer to the portrait.

“Draco Malfoy.”

Before anything else could be said, the knob on the door began to rattle. A woman outside barked, “This one’s locked, too,” to someone else and then the party moved on up the hallway, checking each door. Samantha held her breath, waiting until they were quite far from the door. Then she turned and looked about the bedroom she found herself in.

Unlike the rest of the house, this room appeared untouched by the sinewy fingers of time. The bed was in quite good shape, the emerald velvet hangings were free of dust and spiders. Not a single cobweb was to bee seen. It appeared as though the room were still in use, but that couldn’t be, could it?

“Do you like my bedroom?” The painting Draco said. “I placed a preserving spell on it, you know, to keep it like this in case Harry ever came back.”

“It’s, um, this is strange,” Sam murmured, revolving slowly so as to take in the whole of the room. The walls were white, but had dark wooden crown and kick moulding, and there were intricately carved panels that came to about chair rail height. It was quite lovely, and somewhat over the top, in Sam’s opinion.

“I know what’s going on downstairs,” Draco said softly. Sam stopped spinning and stared at him. “The other paintings have been giving me reports.”

“You know that they kidnapped me?”

Draco nodded. “And I know that my father beat you. Speaking of which, there’s a bruise salve in that chest at the foot of my bed. It should still be good.”

“Thank you,” Sam whispered. She knelt down gingerly before the trunk and undid the silver locks. The trunk was apparently a traveling apothecary, filled with rare potions and ingredients and several empty jars and bottles. Sam read the labels of several of the smaller jars until she found the one labeled Bruise Salve.

“Did – did you make all of this?” She asked as she unscrewed the lid and began applying it liberally to her arms.

“Some of it. Some of it Severus made. No, don’t put it on that thick. Just a little will work wonders. Do you know Severus?”

“Severus Snape? Well, I don’t exactly know him. We’ve never spoken.”

“But you’ve met him?”

“Well, I met him, but he didn’t really meet me, you see. He was unconscious at the time.”

The painting Draco nodded. “He’s really an okay man. I mean, I had my doubts about him, especially after he killed Dumbledore, but he came out all right in the end.”

The voices were back in the corridor outside. “ . . . Have to check every damn room again . . .” A man was grumbling as he passed.

Sam jumped to her feet, looking wildly around. “I bet they’re going to unlock every door and search each room this time. Is – is there anywhere I can hide?”

“There’s an invisibility cloak in my wardrobe. Put it on and hide under the bed or something. And just lay there until I tell you the coast is clear.”

Soon, there came the sound of a key scraping in a lock, and the doorknob turned. The door swung open with a long, low, eerie squeak. Samantha watched through the invisibility cloak as a pair of heavy black boots thumped around one side of the bed. A second pair of boots came in and went around the other side of the bed. There was the sound of wardrobes and trunks being opened, and then the first pair of boots went to check the adjoining bathroom. Both boots made their way toward the door, and then one of them stopped.

“You forgot to check under the bed.”

Boots came back, and then the man inside them knelt down and peered under the bed. Not seeing anything, he stood slowly back up and then both boots were gone. Sam breathed a deep sigh of relief.

“Right. You can come out now.” Draco said.

Sam slid out from under the bed and looked at the invisibility cloak in her hands. She carefully folded it up and slipped it into a pocket of her jeans. It folded up remarkably small.

“So I guess now I’m stuck here.” She sank down onto the bed, gazing at Draco’s portrait.

“Not necessarily. Someone will come for you. You’re just stuck here until they do. And believe me, there are worse places you could get stuck. At least here you’re safe. Take a nap or something, they won’t be back.”

“You’ll wake me up if something happens, right?” she asked nervously, stretching out. 

Draco smiled. “Of course.”

 

Harry led Neville and Brian toward the house. All the windows that they could see where dark, and the house appeared empty.

“Do you see anyone?” Brian whispered.

“No, the coast looks clear.”

“Should we make a run for it?” Neville asked anxiously.

“Not yet. I want to make perfectly sure there’s no one to catch us.”

“Harry, each second we waste could be Sam’s last. She’s been in there for weeks as it is. Let’s just go for it.”

“You’re probably right, Brian. I – just don’t want what happened last time to happen again. I’m sure you understand.”

“Harry, the situation was completely different. There isn’t an army of Death Eaters this time.”

“I know, but –”

“And I thought you said you knew this house really well?”

“I do, but that doesn’t mean –”

“Harry, I understand that you’re upset about losing all your friends, but that was a long time ago. Things have changed. Morda is weak. You can beat him easily. Isn’t that right, Neville?”

Brian and Harry both turned to where Neville had been standing only moments before. There was only shrubbery. They looked frantically around, and finally saw him advancing on the he rotting shell of Malfoy Manor.

“Neville, no!” Harry gasped, darting forward without thinking. Brian followed, his wand out. The brown-haired boy made it to the side of the house and leaned against the cracked, moist rock. He looked back and Followed Harry and Brian with his eyes until they were right up against the house with him.

“What where you thinking?” Harry hissed angrily.

“I was trying to rescue Samantha. She’s still in there, and she needs us.”

Brian smiled. “You may well be the bravest of us yet.”

Neville grinned, and made to go toward the front door. Harry threw out an arm to keep him back.

“If you insist on doing this, at least let me go first.”

Neither Neville, nor Brian had a problem with that, so they fell into stride behind him as he inched around the corner, ducking under a window with a rotting frame, and then rolled to the front door. No one had seen them. Harry carefully pulled on the rotten door, and the handle came off in his hand. He looked at Brian and Neville.

“Be really careful. I don’t know what it’s like inside.”

He crumbled the rest of the door away with his left hand, and slipped into the dark. His friends followed. He risked casting a hasty Lumos so that they could see if the floorboards were rotten, and then they proceeded through the foyer. But as they reached the doorway, a voice called out to them, a voice that could only belong to one person.

“Well, well, Mr. Potter. I see you brought company.”

Harry spun around, shining the light from is wand all around. He found the man who was speaking in the corner opposite them, but before the could light up his face to give Brian and Neville a good look, his wand was blasted from his hand.

“Now, now, I won’t reveal myself until you ask nicely. That’s how it works around here,” Morda chuckled.

“SHOW YOURSELF, YOU COWARD!” Harry bellowed, trying to cover his panic. 

“Tut, tut, Harry. That’s not at all how you should speak to me. I am a great and powerful wizard. You and your friends will respect me.”

“Please, sir,” Neville squeaked, giving a small bow. “Will you not show yourself?”

“That’s more like it,” Morda said warmly, and he muttered an incantation. Thirty or so candles in the chandelier overhead burst into flame, spilling light into all corners of the decaying foyer. Morda’s face was at last revealed.

“YOU!” Brian gasped, taking a step backward in shock.

The man before them was short and pudgy, wearing a pinstriped cloak. His head was almost completely bald, but there was a small amount of fuzzy hair still evident near his ears. In one hand he held a wand, and in the other he twirled a lime green bowler hat.

Cornelius Fudge.


End file.
